


Pair of Dice: Origins

by FishMum



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Drug Use, Eventual Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, IM SORRY THIS IS A DEPRESSING FIC, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Phantom Thief AU, Saihara Shuichi-centric, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishMum/pseuds/FishMum
Summary: "Are you afraid of death, Saihara?""I think a life without meaning is scarier..""Then I'll threaten to kill you until you're afraid!"Finding a reason to live has never been so morally draining.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 64
Kudos: 704





	1. Scars on my Thighs and in my Morals

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning: If topics like suicide and self harm make you uncomfortable, and/or trigger you, please don't read this. Look out for yourselves, please!**
> 
> Hello hello !! For context, this is a small multi-chapter fic based on my Pair of Dice AU (which you can find on my insta, obsessedfish) illustrating the story of how Shuichi actually came to join DICE. Without further ado, enjoy!
> 
> **Warnings for this specific chapter: Very brief mentions of domestic violence, sexual assault and animal cruelty, brief mention of self-harm, and vague suicidal thoughts.**

Another day, yet another heist.

The thief was dedicated, Saihara had half the heart to admit. He was stupidly garish, and infuriatingly charming with a bubbly personality that came oh-so naturally to him. He was eccentric, in every sense of the word, everything he seemed to do was over-exaggerated and flashy.

And Shuichi Saihara, hated every inch of his being.

They were indeed what one would call rivals, with Saihara and his team being the main reason many of the self-proclaimed Phantom Thief and his organization, D.I.C.E’s plans failed. He had a knack for solving crimes since he was an adolescent, and his talent was spoken of across Japan, especially after D.I.C.E rose to power. He was known for his careful, golden and perceptive eyes that spotted details many-a-detectives failed to notice. After accidentally solving a murder before the police when he was seventeen, and pursuing a master’s degree in criminology in his early-twenties, his name was considerately well known across the country. He was what people called “gifted”.

Despite the titles and variety of articles and stories about him and his feats, Saihara thought himself to be rather pathetic. Not only was he horribly anxious and lacked decent social skills, he over-thought and overanalyzed every little thing, he had quite the inferiority complex, and a self-esteem and self worth lower than the Dead Sea itself.

The detective tugged the bill of his hat down to hide insubstantial and anxious golden eyes. A pitiful silence wavered in the black car as it gracefully streaked along the highway, lost in the abundance of blurry lights from fellow passing cars. He was happy his driver was the silent type, had he been forced to indulge in small talk at this hour of night, he’d self destruct. How he wished to go home and rest, he thought, he couldn’t remember the last time he had a proper night’s sleep, but no, the Phantom Thief took the liberty of commencing a heist at 1 in the morning.

The goddamn Phantom Thief.

He loathed him and his existence, but not for the reasons one would think.

He simply hated his charming personality that made Saihara hesitate when confronting him, or that stupidly cheesy flirting he’d do to make the detective stutter and flush whenever they were alone. Shuichi hated that his touch made his stomach churn butterflies, and that his voice made his face heat up to levels he didn’t think was possible. The effect he had on him was what he hated. What would people think if they saw a detective prodigy swoon over a criminal?  
The detective had even considered dropping out of the case multiple times in the past, it was simply much too inappropriate and unprofessional to have any kind of sentiment affect his work.

But he could never bring himself to do it, because the truth of the matter was that those cases were the only thing he ever looked forward to.

Work in the Future Foundation was pleasant. He had friends, money, talent, intellect, a good job, good health (aside from his relentless insomnia and a nicotine problem), what else could he possibly ask for? He knows there are people who’d die to have what he does.  
So why does death even bother crossing his mind?

Saihara knows thoughts like those can plague anyone. He’s dealt with plenty of suicide cases, most tragic and unexpected. Victim’s families almost always mentioned that the dead had shown no signs of self harmful or suicidal tendencies.  
It was invisible like that.

The truth of the matter was that detective work really makes a man question his morals. One grows numb and confused after seeing hundreds or thousands of the different motives for murder or kidnapping. Saihara finds himself occasionally wondering if D.I.C.E is as bad as the Future Foundation make them out to be.  
When he took the time to oversee the companies and people D.I.C.E had struck, he came to an interesting revelation. There was a pattern.

The owner of a multimillion company - convicted on multiple charges of sexual assault - he paid his way out of prison, and D.I.C.E ensured his company’s bankruptcy the second he was released.

A culinary firm that indulged in animal cruelty - after a leaked video from an unknown source depicting the unethical handling of the company’s farm animals, D.I.C.E sent multiple teams all over Japan that let the animals loose in the late hours of the night, without detection.

Another millionaire, a businessman accused of domestic violence more than a dozen times yet never charged, the multiple mansions he owned were plagued with a storm of purple graffiti overnight.

The same pattern repeated itself with every heist, every crime and every charge against D.I.C.E.  
When Saihara attempted to raise the topic up to his superior and colleague, Kirigiri, the answer was a solemn nod of the head and a shrug.  
“They’re still criminals, no matter their motives, Saihara.”

He never brought it up again. But the pattern continued with every crime scene he arrived to, and Saihara swore he felt himself slacking to ensure that D.I.C.E eventually succeeded with every escapade of justice.

His thoughts were immediately thwarted upon hearing the car door open.

Today’s feat was a painting from a traveling gallery that was currently in Tokyo. Rumor had it that multiple paintings were displayed without the original artist’s consent.

But they’re still criminals, no matter their motives.

The lights of the city almost blinded the detective, the car’s interior was dark, it helped him focus. After overcoming temporary sensory overload, he was quick to locate his colleagues, Harukawa and Kirigiri.

“Where is he?” Was the first sentence he blurted out, before realizing it seemed rather rude to not greet them properly. Once again, socializing wasn’t his strong point.

Harukawa motioned towards the roof, as Kirigiri nodded. It was routine for the thief to await his presence on the roofs that he whole-heartedly enjoyed.  
“You know the drill.”

Saihara nodded, a pale hand tugging on his hat’s bill. No one was sure why, but Dice insisted on solely speaking to Shuichi, mentioning having “a soft spot” for his beloved detective. The Future Foundation eventually decided it was best to exploit it, and on most heists they’d have a conversation where Saihara would attempt to draw out information or even convince the thief to drop the heist. The latter was a rare success, but there were occasions where he had achieved it. Perhaps the thief did have a soft spot for him.  
He sighed, shaking his head before his lies consumed him.

Hearing his ebony boots against marble snapped him out of yet another trance, as he climbed the stairs to the gallery’s roof, he braced himself for their next game.

The familiar sight of a clown masked figure met his vision. Saihara always had an issue with eye contact, so the mask was actually a refreshing change of pace, and it was what gave him the courage to confront Dice in comparison to other criminals.

“Pretty night, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.” Saihara mused, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.

“Hm, interesting. I’ve always seen you as someone who enjoyed the little things, like the night sky, or a good book, other boring things like that. You never fail to surprise me beloved!”  
Shuichi could sense the kind smile behind the mask. He had talked to him enough to know what expression he was making with the face he had never seen.

“Hey! Do you think it’s theft if it’s stealing it back?”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t be dense, Saihara! You know what I mean!”

He was referring to the painting, of course. If he was stealing a supposedly stolen painting, was it theft?  
“Theft is theft, no matter who you’re stealing from...”

Dice scoffed. “Wow! That’s so true! Theft really is an unforgivable crime.. the Whatever Foundation educates their little pawns so well! Which is a lie, of course. Ew!” A comical pout under the mask. “Whatever, I guess. I have yet to steal your life!”

“What are we playing today?” Saihara tilted his head in almost genuine curiosity.

“Cards!” A sudden deck appeared, pulled out of the thief’s sleeve like a magician. While one gloved hand held the deck gracefully, arching the cards slightly, the other hand preformed a “come hither” motion. Saihara complied, unalarmed. Had this been one of their first meetings, he wouldn’t dare be ten feet of the thief’s vicinity, but he eventually discovered D.I.C.E’s “no violence” policy, which further complicated his morality complex.

Standing in front of him, Saihara watched Dice shuffle the deck with entranced golden irises. He always did have a way with cards.  
“Here are the rules! It’s super simple, we each pull a random card from the deck. Then on the count of three, we show them to each other. The one with the winning card wins.”

“Alright.” The detective confirmed.

It was their routine. The thief would threaten to take Saihara’s life, and the apparent only way to stop him was beating him in a game of his choosing. Their games ranged from cards, to hide n’ seek, dice, and even rock, paper, scissors. He certainly got creative at times. Today seemed more relaxed, thankfully, Shuichi was much too tired to chase him around.

“I’ll go first!” Dice announced, placing a finger on a card and gracefully pulling it out of the deck. Though Shuichi couldn’t see his eyes (he could only imagine them to be wide and dangerous), he could tell by the brief silence that the thief was intently scanning the card.

“Ho-kay! Your turn!” The deck was held out to the detective, who pulled out a card and looked down at it. The king of hearts.

“Three, two, one.”

Cards were flipped to reveal them to one another. Ah, nine of clubs.

“Oh man, you beat me again! Your skills are truly immaculate detective, you surprise me every time!”

That was another thing - Dice never won. He was either extremely unlucky, or losing deliberately, Saihara thought.  
“Do you ever plan on winning?”

“Do you ever plan on joining my organization?”

“You know the answer.”

Another comical pout, Saihara assumed judging by the cross of the thief’s arms.  
“Oh man. Aren’t you bored already? Tired of wrecking my plans? Wouldn’t you rather wreck me instead?”

It took a moment for him to process the meaning behind the sentence, but once it got to him, the crimson hue on his cheeks was inevitable. “You— Th-That’s-" Saihara stopped talking, unsure of where he was going with that sentence. The silence was replaced by laughter, an iconic one that Shuichi could only classify as a whinnying horse.

“Nishishi! Saihara sounds like a scrawny virgin! That’s so cute!”

“Are you.. Are you done?” It took all he had to not stutter on that sentence.

“You’re suuuuuch a stick in the mud beloved. Loosen up a little.” Saihara imagines him rolling his eyes under the mask. He hates to admit it, but he’s tried to imagine the face that lurked under the clown mask more than once. He tells himself it’s strictly out of curiosity.

“You know, you’d think that these days art theft is something that only happens online! On Instagram or Tumblr, or whatever kids are using these days. But nope!” A gloved, slender finger traced the painting’s golden frame.

“You really should give that back.”

“Oh, I will! To it’s original owner, of course. Kind of a religious weirdo, buuuut she offered a cash award, so who am I to pass on a generous gesture?”

“Th— That’s not what I meant—- I mean leave it be here.”

The thief giggled playfully. “Of course you did, that _is_ the boring answer after all.”

“Isn’t it a little hard running with that rather large painting? It increases the chances you’ll be caught.”

The childish giggling continued, Shuichi didn’t hate the sound all that much. “I never get caught. But, as a kind and charitable Supreme Leader, I’ll offer you a deal! If you join my organization, I’ll return the painting!”

“That’s just outrageous. You know I won’t accept something like that.”

Another pout, he can tell. “Well, I expected you to say that, of course. How boring..” His finger raised to his locks (they were dark, but since Shuichi only ever saw him in the darkness of the night, he never got a good look at the exact color), and twirled a strand of the wild untamed hair. The detective’s eyes couldn’t help but follow his finger’s movements.

“I still don’t understand why you say that.”

“Well, I’m trying to give you every chance I can! Besides, you’re already lying to your precious colleagues just for me, so you might as well go ahead and join!”

“......Wh... What are you talking about?” Saihara cautiously questioned, tilting his head slightly to the right.

Shit. Had he figured it out so soon?

More whinnying laughter. “Don’t play dumb! I see right through you and your schtick. Everyone thinks you’re so innocent too...” A finger tapped the bottom of his mask lightly. “What would they say if they found out that the detective prodigy, Shuichi Saihara, was withholding crucial information?!”

“.....I.. How did you......”

“Dice knows all. Would Shumai like to share this crucial information with the class?” The thief tilted his head to parallel the way the detective’s head was tilted. He found his shock amusing.

“...You.... Your name....” Saihara hesitated for a moment, as if he were about to utter an ill omen. Dice nodded encouragingly, despite it being information that could end his whole career in a heartbeat.  
“Your name is Kokichi Ouma.”

An applause from the figure who the very name belonged to. “Bravo! Brava! With the pace you’re unmasking me I’ll be naked in your bed by tomorrow night!”

Saihara chose to ignore that comment.

“But something does bother me, you see, I can’t seem to figure out _why_ you’re keeping that to yourself. You’ve got the case in the bag! You can totally get big bucks and fame with this case!” Ouma took a step closer to the detective, who didn’t seem to have the willpower to move away.  
“....So why are you protecting me?” There was a pause of genuine confusion, before the thief bounced right back up. “Ah! Could it be you’re reciprocating my love for you~~?”

“No... it’s nothing like that.”

“Aw man. So? Spill the beans. I want answers.”

“...This is a long conversation. They’re going to grow suspicious.” Shuichi motioned his head towards the police cars below them.

“Awe. Poor detective is afraid of being caught by his colleagues and totally ruining his name! Can’t blame you. I’ll be out of your hair. This isn’t the end of this conversation though.”

“W-Wait— The painting—-“

“Sorry! I promised to bring it back~~!”

“Wh-What if I—-“ Shuichi abruptly stopped his sentence. It was absurd, there was no way he’d take such a risk.

It was too late of course, Ouma was hooked.  
“Oh? What if you what? You can’t go back now, I’m bursting with curiosity!”

The detective mentally cursed himself for even letting himself speak. He had spilled too much today, but he was right, he couldn’t go back now.  
“Wh...What if.. I returned it for you...? In a more, uh, legal way...?”

The thief took a couple of moments to blankly process the offer. He was curious, oh-so curious to know how Saihara would go about this. He wanted to know why he was doing it, he wanted to know why he was protecting his ill-name, he wanted to know so much about him. Why he would take such a risk for him. Did he really not value his life to the point he’d throw himself under the bus for a nation-wide renowned thief?

“Okay.”

Saihara looked visibly surprised at the simple response, to which Kokichi could only laugh.

“Don’t disappoint me, beloved!” He saluted, and jumped.

Shuichi’s first instinct was to panic, and frantically run to the roof’s ledge to look down. Unsurprisingly, the thief was already safely in the back of a getaway vehicle. His hastiness never failed to impress Shuichi. The vehicle was parked in a dead end that just-so-happened to be next to the gallery’s backside, damn, seemed the police didn’t surround the place as well as they thought.

With that, Saihara found himself at the gallery roof’s ledge, staring at a white car speeding out of the dead end, tires screeching almost painfully when it took a sharp turn.

It wasn’t the first time he’s been at the ledge of a roof, but with quick calculation, he deduced that the height wasn’t enough to kill him, though perhaps it’d injure him badly, and then he wouldn’t have to work for a little while. Sighing, he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. Ouma was likely to be blamed for it and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

Fucking Ouma. Ouma and his stupid flirting. Ouma and his dumb games. Ouma and his charming personality. Ouma and his strangely kind heart.

Saihara knew he was in deep shit the second he had figured out his identity, but at this point he was full-blown corrupt. Not that the Future Foundation was perfect, but withholding information because he had goo-goo eyes for a not-so-evil criminal? That was something else.

 _“...So why are you protecting me?”_  
That may have been the most genuine question to ever come out of the lying thief’s mouth. For the first time, he sounded genuinely confused, almost distraught that he couldn’t figure it out for himself.

_Because you’re not as bad as people think. Because you’re actually a kind person underneath the mask. Because I may or may not have a soft spot for you. Because your case is my main reason to live._

Again the thoughts plague him and infest his mind. His moral is corrupted, he’s lying to his friends who have done nothing wrong to deserve his deception, he had chosen a petty and potentially dangerous thief’s well-being over his own. How dare he walk the earth alongside innocent people and pretend to be one of them?

It’s a problem for sooner than later.

He hops off the ledge, not-so-gracefully landing on the roof’s surface. Picking up the painting with great care, he examines it to ensure no damage has been done, but it seems as though Ouma had taken just as much caution as he did.  
After the brief examination of the art and the mess he’s gotten himself into, a new wave of anxiety crashes over him before the previous one can be put to rest. God, he wants a cigarette to help him relax a little. He’s aware it’s a disgusting habit, but he’s had worse, and healed wounds on his thighs prove it.

He sighs once more, lungs feeling constricted when attempting to inhale.

He should have dropped the case along with his life a long time ago, he thinks for a brief moment.

The painting fit comfortably underneath his arm, right hand gripping the frame. He headed towards the roof’s exit as his other hand is shoved into his pocket, only to feel a deck of cards at his fingertips.


	2. The Vents Sing for us, Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The breeze from being so high up at midnight is cold, yet soothing. Saihara listens to the ventilation system sing him a desolate melody._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings for this chapter: Suicidal tendencies, brief mentions of self injury and overdose.**

Saihara lived in a rather ravish apartment complex. It was close to the Future Foundation’s buildings, which was the main reason he chose the area. That, and he could afford it. His paycheck was more than decent, and he made extra money by doing private investigating on the side.

He can only reminisce to the days he was just starting out, an anxious and unsure young adult with a masters in criminology. A private investigator who started out with infidelity cases and missing persons. A private investigator who helped the police solve murders in record time. A sleuth to which the Future Foundation reached out to for help with a troubling case, he remembers the day he stepped into the 6th division’s building for the first time. He remembers the way his hands sweat and the way he gnawed on his bottom lip when he came face to face with his idol, Kyouko Kirigiri, who was now a coworker and friend.

He can only reminisce what was the past.

Today he was a detective who was only demanded by the Future Foundation and wealthy folk, often paranoid women who thought their spouses were cheating on them, or older men who came to him to figure out if their sugar babies were divorcing them to take advantage of their funds (yes, was the usual answer). If he were honest, Saihara couldn’t care less about the people who milked his talent for the sake of infidelity paranoia. He was not a marriage counselor, he wanted to tell them, because half of those cases turned into counseling sessions he wasn’t equipped for. He’d much rather spend his time helping the less-fortunate, who were wronged by businesses, or parents with missing children who simply wanted to find their kid. As someone with parents who were non-existent in his life, Saihara greatly respected good parents who’d do anything for their children.

But it wasn’t his choice. It was never his choice. When it came to private investigation, his uncle managed his clients, deciding who was “worth his time”. Everyone was worth his time, he wanted to say, but his uncle didn’t want to hear it, and insisted on prioritizing financially beneficial clients who’d do his name good.  
He really couldn’t care less. He had enough fame, he had enough money, he had gotten into detective work because he wanted nothing more than to help people.

It’s been a while since he enjoyed work.

Right now wasn’t any better, he sighed a dejected breath as he endlessly stared at his case board. His neighbors in the building next to his decided to throw a party, destroying any hope he had for a quiet night. It wasn’t uncommon for them, considering they were pop stars or something (he hasn’t been following the music industry lately), but god he longed to sleep, dark eye bags under golden eyes screaming louder than he ever will.

A part of him wants to down as many sleeping pills as he can, just to force himself into slumber, but he knows that risking getting his stomach pumped again isn’t worth a couple hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep (or is it?). Another part of him wants to bang his head against the wall until the sounds of muffled music from outside turned into a blissful migraine, but he’s told himself that he won’t go back to self injury or his colleagues will pester him right back into therapy, which he doesn’t have the time for.  
So he settles for option three, smoke a cigarette and feel absolutely disgusted with himself while doing it.

After shoving two cigarettes and a lighter into the pockets of his coat, Saihara exits his apartment. He leaves his lights on, unsure if he cares for an extra digit on his electric bill or not. He decided he doesn’t.

Clop clop clop. Those are the sounds his boots make as he tread up the apartment stairs. Original Dr. Martens, he scoffs at his taste in fashion, wondering if he was an emo teenage girl in a past life. He thinks whoever wears Dr. Martens is emo, sexually confused, or both (he calls himself out).

He grabs the keys to the roof, half-assedly tucked underneath a flower pot. He’s pretty sure he’s the only person in the building that bothers going up there. Saihara mentally applauds his neighbors for having a life.

He fumbles with the keys slightly before hearing a click, his cue to push open the door. It makes a drawn out “screee” noise, desperately begging for oil to calm it. Saihara pities the door, but relates.

The breeze from being so high up at midnight is cold, yet soothing. Saihara listens to the ventilation system sing him a desolate melody. It calms him, and so does the small flame when he puts the lighter to use. The fire dances to the vent’s song, along with the twilight’s breeze.  
After golden irises stare at the flame for a few seconds, he lights a cigarette and takes a puff, marveling at the way the cloud of smoke he blows out looks against the dark sky.

His eyes find their way to the stars, and his friend Kaito comes to mind.  
“Orion’s belt..” Saihara mumbles, watching the smoke escape his mouth and get lost amongst constellations. His eyes scan the sky for more of Orion, but light pollution has other plans. He remembers Kaito endlessly complain about how hard it is to see the stars in the city, and talk about how he wants to take Shuichi and Maki out to the country side someday so he can show them “what a night sky is supposed to look like”, his words. A smile tugs at his lips at the thought.

His eyes look downwards, and his field of vision is met with the whole neighborhood. Saihara is unsure when his legs dragged him to the ledge once more, but the feeling of being so close to a plummeting death is almost exhilarating, albeit a little frightening.  
The apartment complex is sprawled out before his feet, the tip of his boots hanging off the ledge. One wrong step and he’s a bloody pulp at the entrance to the building, it wouldn’t be a pretty sight. He knows this for a fact, having seen plenty of dead bodies in his line of work. He makes sure to lean backwards, not keen on inconveniencing his neighbors with his blood and guts on their walkway.

He looks over to the neighboring building, spotting the source of pop music and colorful lights. He blows a cloud of smoke towards the party, a silent profanity to the headache-inducing tunes.  
Saihara thinks, what the hell, he’s in a bitchy mood. Keeping the cigarette between his lips, he holds up two hands towards the party, flipping the celebration off with both fingers.  
That’s what he thinks about his loud neighbors.

His silent “fuck you” is interrupted by his phone vibrating in the pocket of his pants - pinstriped and cuffed, as per the nature of bisexuality. He almost loses his balance, and cigarette, so he quickly hops off the ledge and laughs it off coldly. Taking the cigarette in one hand and phone in the other, he presses the green answer button, not bothering to look at the contact name. He just knows he hates them if they’re calling at this time of night.

“Hello?” His tone comes off cold, he heats up the cold tone of voice with nicotine.

“Hey Saihara.. Seems we’ve got a Phantom on our hands.”

Never mind, he could never bring himself to hate Kirigiri. Her voice always calmed him, even when delivering troubling news.

“..Again?” He took another puff, blowing out smoke with an exasperated sigh.

“You’re smoking again.” She points out the obvious. “And yes.”

He smiles a little, he could never get anything past his fellow detective. “Send me the details, I’ll be there.”

“Stop smoking.”

He chuckles and hangs up, but obeys her request and puts out the cigarette. With that, he sighs again. Ouma really aggravated him with the hours he picked for his escapades. But he can’t help but be a little excited.

With the final bird to his neighbors, he exits the rooftop, briefly stopping at his apartment to grab his hat. Even in the worst of moods, he can’t stand to look anyone in the eye.

\--------------------------

Saihara finds himself climbing the stairs of a museum. He hums, thinking it was an interesting choice for Ouma, the thief expressed the fact that he thought museums were “the most boring thing to ever boring”, but then again, that could’ve been a lie. He shrugs to himself, pushing open the door to the rooftop.

“Thief.” He greets with the nod of the head. Saihara can already sense his smile under the mask.

“Shumai!” Said thief exclaims, Saihara remembers him saying that “Shumai” was his favorite nickname for him - and he had plenty. “You know you can call me by my name, don’t be shy now! It makes it a lot more personal~” He purrs as he shoots finger guns towards the detective, who could only roll his eyes.

“What’s on the agenda for today? What did you even steal?”

“Oh, nothing in particular! I actually just caused some commotion so I could talk to you!” A playful giggle follows.

“...Is that a lie....?”

“Dunno, guess you’ll have to frisk me to find out!” Saihara senses the smirk underneath the hollow clown face, and he curses himself for blushing at the statement. Really, he should be used to those comments by now.

“C-Could you..... Be serious? Did you take something or not?”

“That’s our game for today!” The thief clasps his gloved hands together. “The item I’ve stolen is hidden around here, if you find it, you get to keep it! Finders-keepers~”

Saihara sucks in a breath of cool air. “Okay.” He agrees, knowing he doesn’t have a choice either way.  
“But if you’re going to say something stupid, like.. you stole my heart or something like that.. no dice, Kokichi.”

Ouma laughs some more, and the sound is oh-so sweet to Saihara’s ears. It takes everything in him to not smile at the whinnying.  
“You’re so bold today, it’s a pleasant surprise! That’s why I like you the most. You’re so unpredictable.” He tilts his head, Saihara continues to fantasize about the smile that’s hiding underneath the mask. “You know me so well, but no, that’s not the case this time. ‘Sides, I stole your heart a long time ago.”

Saihara decides it’s best to not confirm the statement, so he avoids answering by beginning to look around. It’s a roof, there’s practically nowhere to hide anything. He looks behind the ventilation system, and around the door to the roof, finding nothing.

“It’s not on you, is it? That’d be cheating.”

“Hmm.. Maybe you should have a look~”

“I’m not going to strip you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Honestly Shumai!” He fake-scoffs under the mask. “How indecent! We’re not at that stage of our relationship yet!”

The detective walks over to him, rolling his eyes. “Yet.....?” He repeats in a mumble. His eyes look the thief up and down, unsure of how to proceed.

He doesn’t need to think much, because Ouma raises a hand up to his face. He’s about to quickly back away, until he hears:  
“Stole your nose!” He exclaims, his hand balled in a fist and his own thumb peaking through his index and middle finger.

It’s.... so _stupid_. It’s so childish. It’s so Kokichi, that Saihara finds himself.... laughing.

It’s pathetic really, chortling like a maniac at such a stupid joke, but he can’t stop, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s laughed so hard. He feels tears at the corners of his eyes.  
The thief on the other hand, watched in an uncharacteristic silence. After a minute, Saihara manages to calm down, and he speaks.

“You laughed.” Ouma mumbles, in a tone that’s much too serious for Shuichi. The smile instantly fades.  
“I-I’m sorry—? Was I not supposed to—-“

“No, you idiot, I meant that I’ve never seen you laugh before. I’ve never even seen you smile. And we’ve been meeting for over a year.” Saihara suddenly detects a smile on the thief’s face. “You really are full of surprises! I never knew your laugh was so sweet, Shumai!”

“I-I- It’s really not tha—“

“Anyways, you lost.” Ouma suddenly grabs the detective’s hat off his head, to which Saihara yelped.  
“H-Hey-! What are you-“ He stopped upon seeing a glimmer from inside his own hat. The thief pulls something shiny out of it.

“I stole a topaz! Isn't it pretty?” He holds the gem up to the detective’s vision, finding his stunned face amusing.

“What—- H-How did you—?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets! I can’t believe you lost, Shuichi!” He shakes his head in disapproval, while Saihara breaks his mind over how the gem could have possibly ended up in his own hat without him noticing or feeling it.  
“Now, usually I’d have to kill you, y’know, since you lost. _Buuuuut_ , because you blessed me with your dazzling smile, I’ll let you off the hook, just this once, okay?”

The compliment adds color to the detective’s already flushed cheeks. “Y-Yeah- Okay—-“

After returning his hat, Ouma looks at the back of his wrist, clicking his tongue as he shakes his head at the non-existent watch. “Oh dear, looks like I should get going! Gotta go slaughter an entire orphanage, you know the drill.”  
Saihara lets himself smile at the lie.

The thief seems to examine the smile for a moment too long, then lets out a satisfied hum. He grips the topaz in his fist, and his head perks up at the sound of a car. Damn, another blind spot the police missed, Saihara thinks.

“I’ll be off then!” He announces, hopping onto the roof’s ledge. Saihara simply nods, he doesn’t seem to care about the gem.

“I have a request.” He suddenly blurts out as he feels for the rope he’s prepared in advance to escape. Saihara tilts his head in curiosity.  
“Um, yeah?”

“Smile more. Hm?”

“.......We’ll see.”

“Yippee!” The thief cheers, saluting and hopping down, using the rope to navigate his way down to the getaway vehicle.

Saihara ponders the request for a moment. “..Smile more.......” He repeats Ouma’s words, staring down at the cap in his hands. He decides to stay on the roof for a minute, figuring it’s better to let his furious blush calm down before facing his colleagues once more.

He leans on the vent, lighting the second cigarette in his pocket as he watches a white car speed away from the vicinity. He wonders why the thief bothers caring about his smile.

Today, his eyes don’t focus on the ledge.


	3. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The train diverges from it’s path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is extremely short, and not really plot heavy at all. It's a short drabble meant to show Saihara's desire for change and a certain someone.
> 
>  **Chapter Warnings: Heavily implied drug use, brief mention of suicidal tendencies.**  
>  This chapter is literally Shuichi just having an acid trip

A flurry of various colors intoxicate Saihara’s vision. His eyes are closed, but his mind is very much open and awake.

He’s floating, surrounded by marmalade skies and figures and shapes he can’t quite make out. He feels cold (he thinks), yet he’s sweating lightly, navy blue locks gathering in clumps and sticking to his forehead.

It’s nice though, and he’d like to fly higher into breathing clouds that welcome him with open arms. But he’s unsure of how many window panes he’s consumed, so he hastily throws the remaining substance in his laundry hamper, buried under white button ups and pinstriped suit pants. He decides it’s a problem for future Saihara.

Present Saihara on the other hand, was having a blast. He’s the most calm he’s been in years, and smiling like Ouma asked of him.  
His touch feels hyper sensitive, when he rakes his hand through his hair, he feels every strand brush against his fingers and a few flakes of dry scalp. He’s hyperaware of the couch’s cushion underneath him, and the velvet pillow propped underneath his other arm. He revels in the way his body slightly sinks into the cushions, and he’s practically convinced that he really is up in the clouds.

There’s someone in front of him when he opens his eyes, he believes, it’s a person, or at least a figure of sorts. Saihara looks for signs of life, and sees kaleidoscope eyes for a brief moment, before the memory of a familiar clown mask emerges all of a sudden.  
He blinks.  
It’s his lamp. Is it breathing? Can it move?

Saihara shakes his head at nothing in particular, he looks around for the person he swore stood in front of him. He’s unsure of what to look for, but knows what he wants to see.  
White.

A white cape, white suit, white top hat, and dark hair that creates a beautiful contrast to the entire getup. There are obnoxious checkered patterns strewn across the outfit, even when sober he gets dizzy looking at them. Black gloves reach out to him, and he holds his hands out to grab the figure. His hands are emptier than his soul.

Again he looks for white in the haze of eye straining hues that taint his vision and will most definitely result in a migraine later. His living room feels more alive than he’s ever been in his life. Even teetering at the ledge of a roof doesn’t beat this blissful high. He’s alive, he feels his heart beating in his chest, the sound pounding in his ears. He’s alive, he reminds himself with what little brain power he can use.

White reenters his vision, and he makes sure to follow it this time. He’s up and walking through cellophane flowers of yellow and green that tower over his head.

The figure speaks to him. Or so he thinks, he can’t make out the words it’s saying. But he recognizes the sweet whinnying laughter that echos in his head, he’s sure it’s not coming from the figure in front of him, but it must belong to it, right?

“What?” He inquires, he’s unsure if the words even escape his mouth or if his conscience is too loud in his hyperaware state of mind.

Saihara receives no answer, he idly follows the ivory glimmer to a bridge by a fountain. When he stops by the figure, he tries his hardest to focus on it. He looks for hands, for legs propping it up, for wild vigorous hair that peak out the sides of an obnoxious top hat, for a human face that isn’t a mocking clown mask.

He resorts to plan b, and shuts his eyes tightly. There are blurry clouds tinted in all sorts of colors that dance around closed eyelids, but he does everything he can to ignore them and to imagine a face.  
But he knows better than anyone, that the human mind is incapable of creating a face it’s never seen before.

“Take it off?” He asks the figure mindlessly. There’s a brief tapping noise, and Saihara turns around to look for it’s source. He can’t possibly figure it out, since it seems to bounce around his skull. When he turns to look at the figure, it’s gone once again, he sighs dejectedly.

He’s on a train, he imagines, in a station with plasticine porters with looking glass ties. The train stays on its track, it doesn’t dare disobey the path set out for it. That’d simply be a recipe for disaster.

So why does Saihara so desperately want the train to go rogue and divert from it’s intended path?

The train will endlessly move forward unless he takes initiative and forces himself into the conductor’s role. He runs through each train car until he reaches the front of the train, he doesn’t understand the controls one bit, but he will get this train off its tracks.

There’s a railroad switch. And then he sees it - the white figure has returned. Saihara takes a leap of faith, he throws off his hat and against his preferences, looks the figure right in it’s kaleidoscope eyes.  
They pull the lever, and train tracks switch.

The train diverges from it’s path.

His eyes open to a sky of diamonds. It’s so beautiful, his heart was bursting with ambition and determination to throw his train off its tracks, that he’d forgotten his surroundings.

Hyperawareness returns, the wind on his face is cold due to it blowing on the sweat that’s gathered on his forehead. His locks sway with the breeze, and golden eyes meet with the northern pole star, Polaris, he briefly remembers a lecture from an aspiring astronaut.

He’s on the roof.

——————————

Saihara wakes up on his couch, shirt doused in sweat and hat gone missing. When he digs through his laundry hamper to find decent smelling clothes, he finds the remaining window panes and remembers what he indulged in last night.

He can’t quite remember what the hallucinogenics showed him, but remembers the overwhelming ambition and determination to change.... something. He wasn’t quite sure what. He can’t remember.

He decides it’s better that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed by now, this whole chapter is inspired by the song Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds-


	4. Rendezvous in Hotel Kumasutra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saihara is dragged into a rather strange game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter than usual OwO
> 
> **Chapter Warnings: Sexual themes, implied sexual content (but nothing too explicit)**

Saihara enjoys the early hours in the office. At dawn, the Future Foundation’s buildings were quiet, and almost no one besides overnight security was present. It was his favorite time to work, no matter how many times Kaede or Maki scold him for staying at the office all night without a wink of sleep. 

He takes a short break from his work to watch the sunrise, the golden rays brilliantly streak across his office and put his own golden eyes to shame. The way the beams so magnificently illuminate the room never fails to marvel Shuichi. 

When the golden glow finally fades into a husky blue that slowly grows brighter, Saihara’s attention returns to his case board. As usual, case files and documents litter his desk in an organized chaos that only Shuichi can decipher. As clean cut and neat the detective presents himself on the outside, he isn’t too adamant on being organized. 

An hour later, a new kind of light enters his office. It isn’t the golden rays of dawn, but the obnoxious-too-bright-morning’s daylight. It’s the hour where people with normal sleep schedules clock in to work, and the city of Tokyo wakes up from a night of neon lights and turns into a bustling city of people running to school and petty office jobs.

Shuichi doesn’t even need to look at the clock to tell what time it is, the second Kaede walks into his office with an exasperated expression when she sees that he’s been in the same position since last night, Shuichi knows it’s just about 8:15 in the morning. Unlike him, she is blissfully aware of the time and date on a regular basis.

As per their daily routine, she walks in and sets a black coffee on his desk, which he almost automatically grabs and raises to his lips. He feels like an addict sometimes (Kaede is convinced he is).

“Another night-long office trip, Shuichi?” It’s barely a question, and more of an exasperated comment.

“I had a breakthrough.” He quips without looking up from the case file. When he receives no response, he continues. “The homicide was most likely framed, due to the bullet placement and the fact that the suspect is left handed—“

“Shuichi, please leave the murder talk for lunch.. I woke up an hour ago.”

“Right, sorry.”

“And for the love of all that is good, please go to sleep. You look awful...” 

“Thanks.” He’s barely listening at this point and is absorbed back into the homicide file, already used to the “go to sleep” lectures. Insomnia couldn’t care less.

She sighs, knowing it’s a lost cause. “You had a few things in your mail by the way, you should pick them up. See you later, okay?”

“Thank you, Kaede.” He makes the effort to turn towards her and offer a tired smile. She looks a little relieved that he’s awake enough to respond properly. With that, she walks out.

Shuichi leans back in his chair to ponder for a moment as the bitter taste of pure black coffee envelopes his tongue. He supposes a trip to the mail room couldn’t hurt, it would be best that he stretch his legs.

So he downs the rest of his coffee (he baffles his friends with the way he can chug such a bitter taste, but he’s had worse flavors in his mouth), and stands. The aching in his legs and lower back from a night of constantly changing positions in his chair is prominent, but he decides to walk the pain off. 

The building is still rather quiet, most people had just arrived into their offices and were getting ready for the day. He briefly greets Kaede once more on his way to the mail room, and a few other people as well. He’s trying to be friendly and a little more social, as he’s promised Kaito that he’d make an effort to do so.

Upon arriving at the mail room, he spots three envelopes in his box. After grabbing them, he rushes back to his office, only to see that his colleagues have arrived at their joint office.  
“You were here all night again?” Kirigiri, also not being the most incredible conversationalist, states as the first thing to say to Shuichi in the morning.

“I had a breakthrough.” He replies with the same answer he gave Kaede. Kirigiri, being the renowned detective she is, understands his point, and doesn’t argue any further. She too, is guilty of staying at the office overnight to oversee cases in the dead of moonlight.

They have a short chat about his findings, Maki listens quietly as she scrolls through tabs on her laptop. After the discussion, Saihara retreats back to his office, finding that the walk was actually rather pleasant, and sitting back down almost gave him a feeling of dread.

He decides to open the letters he’s received, eager to see what he’s gotten.

He opens the first envelope. It’s a transcript of a witness testimony he requested. Saihara pins it on his case board with a satisfied hum.

The second envelope is a response to a warrant request he filed last week, the search warrant he requested was denied. He huffs in a dark tone, clearly unhappy with that result. He mentally notes to file a request for another one with a convincing explanation, he will get his search warrant.

The third letter his what catches his eye. The envelope is a pastel lavender color, clearly not the plain white kind that the office provides. There is no building number, and not even his full name, only his initials - “S.S.” written in an elegant handwriting. He notes that this means that the sender put this in the mailbox themselves, but why bother?  
Curiosity engulfs him as he pries open the envelope, only to find a white paper neatly slotted inside and waiting for him. He slides the parchment out, and already notices there’s barely any writing on the small piece of paper, so his eyes mull over what little writing there is.

“53 Kumanami Street, 11:00pm.

Come alone, don’t keep me waiting, my love <3”

Saihara can practically hear the thief say the last words in his mind. The conspicuous letter was undoubtably from Dice himself, requesting to meet him at a remote address he’s never even heard of before.  
It’s a trap, it must be. But Saihara can’t help that nagging feeling in the back of his head telling him to go.

Impatient fingers tap his keyboard to awaken the darkened laptop screen, and he quickly types in the address into the search bar.  
Hotel Kumasutra, is the first name he sees. So it’s a hotel of some sort, it’s all the information he needs (or so he thinks, accidentally missing a certain detail about what kind of hotel it is). He enters the address into the navigation application on his cellphone, it’s a fifteen minute drive from the office. 

Now comes the real dilemma - should he even go?

He’s already established the fact that this must be some kind of trap, why else invite him to some shady hotel? The question is, is he prepared to deal with whatever trap is set for him?  
On one hand, it’s too risky, especially if he is to go alone, god only knew what could happen to him. On the other hand, curiosity and a sense of excitement tug and pull at his hair to the point his scalp burns and he has a headache. It’s screaming at him to go and see what game Ouma has in store for his twisted and curious detective, who hates to admit how much he wants to see him again. He craves that exhilaration and danger he gets when he confronts the Phantom Thief, something about it feels oh so right.

It’s decided.

———————— 

By the time he finds the street, it’s 10:55. He’s right on time, unsure if he wants to know what Dice’ll do if he keeps him waiting.  
The area is.. somewhat shady, but also very bright, neon lights practically blinding Saihara. He hasn’t slept in the past 36 hours, and really isn’t in the mood for blinding city life. The adrenaline coursing through his veins is the only thing keeping him awake, while the dark circles under his eyes are begging him to sleep.

Upon reading the neon signs as he searches for the hotel, he suddenly realizes why this area is the way it is. He finds the building he’s looking for, and he can’t help the redness creeping up his neck.  
Hotel Kumasutra was a Love Hotel.

Saihara mentally curses out the thief for even making him come to a place like this. God forbid someone recognize him in a Love Hotel out of all places, really, he’d rather drop dead. He doesn’t think he should give Enoshima any more ideas for her bullshit articles. 

He’s made a commitment though, and forces himself to walk through the doors.  
The first thing he notices is that the decor is tackiest shit he’s ever seen. A storm of monochrome pink engulfs his vision and gives him a headache with how bright it is.

There’s a man at the front desk, and he gives the detective a sly smile. Saihara thinks he looks like he’s stepped out of a black-and-white movie, his hair is dyed in an eccentric half-half way, and he wears a black vest with a white button-up underneath, and a prominent red bow tie.  
“Welcome to Hotel Kumasutra! Do you have a room reserved?”

“Uh.. Yes? For 11, I suppose?”

There’s a brief silence as the host clacks away at his computer.  
“Saihara?”

He’s almost confused to hear his own name, but he nods slowly, assuming Ouma took the liberty of registering under his name (thanks a lot, he thinks).

“Room 7, enjoy your time here!” He smiles once more. For some reason, his wide, almost condescending smile makes Saihara uneasy, but he thanks him anyways and makes his way to the room.

Once he finds it, it’s 11:02, he prays the thief spares him the 2 minutes before he walks in.

After his silent prayer asking that everything will go alright, and that he doesn’t die in a Love Hotel out of all places (really, imagine the headlines!), Saihara enters the room. He’s greeted with that familiar, almost comforting sight of a white figure in a clown mask. 

“Tsk Tsk Tsk, 2 minutes late? I can’t believe you’d invite me here and then arrive late! How irresponsible, I expected better from a detective prodigy such as yourself.”

“I’m sorry-? Wait, I didn’t invite you here-“

“But wow!” The thief continues, paying no mind to his protests. “It’s been a while since I’ve landed into trouble like this!”

“Trouble...?” Saihara tilts his head. For a short moment, he analyses his surroundings, and immediately regrets it. The sight of whips, handcuffs, a.... swing. It gives him unexplainable emotions. The little carousel of horses near the extravagant bed is strange and tacky as well, he notes.

“Trapping me in a place like this... That’s very like you, mister detective!”

“Wh...What? But you invited me here-“ He reminds him once again. Ouma doesn’t seem to listen.

“No way I’m gonna tell you where I hid the thing I stole though!” He clicks his tongue in an amused manner and rocks on his heels. “Torture won’t work either you know!”

“T-Torture??? I’m not gonna torture you! What do you think a detective does??”

“You’re planning on tyin’ and roughin’ up my body, aren’t you? That’s why there’s a bed, huh?” He gestures towards the bed behind him, it briefly reminds Saihara of how tired he is, and suddenly the roaring red blankets are very tempting.

“N-No— No, you’ve got it all wrong- What are you.. What are you trying to do?” The detective raises an eyebrow, clearly this is a part of some sort of scheme, he’s trying to rile him up, or confuse him, or something.

“But isn’t that what happens to a Phantom Thief when they’re caught?” His voices lilts at the end, and his demeanor and the setting they’re in... Makes Saihara question his motives. Perhaps he’s trying to seduce him, so he can make fun of him and “prove” that Saihara shares some kind of feelings for him. He scrunches his nose slightly in thought.

“What are you trying to do....? This is...”

“But y’know, if you’re into some craaaazy kinks, even I won’t be able to keep up!”

“H-Hold on—! What on earth are you implying? You’ve got this all wrong-“ Saihara pauses in the middle of his argument. Maybe... Maybe they shouldn’t be arguing. He believes he understands Kokichi’s game a little better all of a sudden, perhaps he wants him to play along.  
“...I’m not going to do anything to you. Maybe I’ll just leave you to be the cops problem. If you’re trying to rile me up and give yourself a chance to escape... no dice, Kokichi.”

Saihara can see how the thief lights up at him playing along with... whatever this was. So that was the point.  
“Oh, figured it out already?” He pouts under the mask. “Geeeez, and I was willing to let you do whatever you want to me too.. Since I love you, Shuichi..”

The last sentence makes something stir in Shuichi’s chest. It’s not the first time the thief has said something like that to him, he’s constantly calling him “beloved” and “my love”, and talking about how he’s his “favorite”. But when he says it like that, those three words together, bare and naked for his ears to embrace... Sometimes Shuichi feels like he means the opposite, he can never properly distinguish the malice in his dangerous tone. He doesn’t know what it means, and he doesn’t understand it’s purpose. 

Ouma hums at the silence he receives after the empty(...?) confession.  
“Well, if you’re not gonna do anything, maybe I will.” His cape flutters gracefully behind him as he swiftly circles around Saihara, forcing those analytical golden eyes to follow his every move.

“Ah- Hey—“ Saihara stutters out when Ouma takes a few threatening steps forward, making the detective reflexively back up.

“No need to be scared, what did you think I was gonna do to you?”

“I’m simply being cautious..... We aren’t exactly friends, Kokichi....”  
Were they...? No, Saihara can’t quite classify him as a friend, that’s just blasphemy. It’s ironic though, he probably talks to the thief more than anyone. When it comes to his actual friends, he tends to listen. It’s actually rather sad, now that he thinks about it. 

“Geez, don't be so cold to me. You've been chasing after me for so long. The stealing part doesn't excite me as much as being pursued by you, y'know?” He doesn’t wait for the detective to answer, but the confused look on his face amuses him. “Don't you feel the same, Shuichi? You weren't bored playing with me, were you?”

“No-“ Is the automatic, almost desperate answer that comes out of the detective’s mouth. Ouma silently smiles in relief. “I mean- I wouldn’t say that-“ He quickly tries to mask the fact that he is extremely not-bored with the thief. He fails.

“Well, I don’t care what you think anyways!” He interrupts the ramble that Shuichi was a second from. He sighs in defeat.  
“Because you just do as you please, don’t you, Kokichi?”

The thief almost breaks character to giggle, but quickly catches himself. God, he can’t describe the feeling he gets when Saihara says his real name.  
“Awww. Are you mad because I toyed with you? Don't worry. I'm always thinking about you! You're always trying your best to catch me. I really have to give it my all to win!”

“..You seem to be rather enjoying this.... for a cornered criminal.” That was Kokichi’s character at the moment, wasn’t it? A cornered criminal?

“Cause the game’s not over yet.” Is the ominous response he receives.  
“Hey, Shuichi... What would you do if I told you that I wanted you to catch me?”

“Huh?”

The thief giggles. “There's a transmitter on my body, so my friends probably have this place surrounded already.” He begins to rock on his heels again, Saihara is convinced that he can’t stay still for a minute of his life.  
“Nishishi...” His obnoxiously charming laughter makes Shuichi’s chest sing. “Looks like you'll be the one getting all tied and roughed up, Shuichi!”

“That’s.... That’s not......”  
His words make Saihara panic for a moment, that... couldn’t be, could it? No, those aren’t their roles.  
“Your lies don’t work on me, Kokichi.”

Another wonderful shudder runs down Kokichi’s spine at the sound of his name rolling off the detective’s tongue and the tone that he uses.  
“Awww... you're not shaken up at all. I thought you would be more excited. That's too bad... I really wanted your eyes to be on me...” 

“...I thought you didn’t... care about how I felt...” 

“That was a lie, you know, cause I’m a liar.”  
Saihara wonders if he should feel happy at the fact the thief admits to caring about his feelings, the backwards confession gives him a warm feeling.

“But, when I said I wanted you to catch me... That was definitely not a lie.” Ouma’s voice grows deeper than his usual light and peppy tone. It’s almost a sensual purr.

“What do you mean....?” Saihara tilts his head, eager to know what he was getting at.

“It means... you can do whatever you want to me. And that's the truth.”  
Saihara hates what the tone of voice does to him, he feels blood pumping throughout his body, and his heart beats a little faster as it works to keep him alive.  
“Come.. Play with me... Let’s do a lot more together..”

Shit, Saihara thinks to himself. There was no doubt at what Kokichi was hinting at anymore. The setting, the tone of voice, the acting, the sexual innuendos... But did he seriously want to.......? Where the hell did this come from? Why is he springing this on him all of a sudden?  
A part of him, deep down, is screaming at him to live in the moment and submit to a very dangerous desire. He hates the fact that the sense of desire is even present. The bigger, more logical part of him is telling him to abort mission and have Kokichi break character but....

He pushes him down onto the bed, hard.  
Saihara wants to drop dead on the spot when he feels a horrible stirring in the lower half of his body, and his brain is telling him to stop everything to repel of all the unholy desires he suddenly gets. He has to stop this.

“K—Kokichi— Kokichi wait- stop-“ He manages to utter, and surprisingly, the second he declines his advances, Kokichi immediately backs off.

“.........Just kidding! Did I get ya?” 

What.

Was this.... just some practical joke all along...? Would he really go through so much trouble just to prank and embarrass him? The detective hates the thought, but yes, it’s definitely something Kokichi would do.

He sprints to the exit, and Saihara can’t find the words to stop him.  
“That was fun! But jeez Shuichi, work on your roleplay, you’re sooooo stiff. We should stick to the real thing.” The thief opens the door. “..But I wouldn’t mind meeting up again. Just make sure you entertain me, okay?”

Saihara is at a loss for words, Ouma lets out an amused chuckle.

“See ya Shuichi!”

“Hold on—-“ He manages. Ouma tilts his head in question.  
“Did you... Did you actually steal something....?”

There’s a short silence, then a childish, almost innocent giggle.  
“Not quite yet, maybe next time though.”  
With that, he’s gone.

The detective sinks into the bright red blankets beneath him. What on earth just happened.  
He wants to think, but something else is brought to his attention. That horrible taboo feeling caused by Ouma and his stupid act. Saihara absolutely hates himself when he looks down to find his pants uncomfortably tight. He had to be deranged, being aroused by someone like him. By a criminal, for God’s sake.

Not only is resisting unholy temptations getting harder by the second, but the soft crimson blankets are strangely alluring. Suddenly, jacking off and falling asleep in such a comfortable bed doesn’t seem so unappealing.  
Out of theory, he checks if the door locks (stupid question, it’s a hotel, of course it does). Ouma had taken the liberty of already purchasing the room for the night, so he might as well take advantage of it. What’s the harm? It’s not as if anyone would know what he was up to.

For the first time in forever, he pushes his overthinking and work aside (and the feelings of guilt and embarrassment towards himself), and allows himself to fall backwards into soft red cushions as he chucks his jeans to the floor near the bed.

And he can only picture dark hair against a white and checkered outfit.

(The next morning - after an incredible sleep, he has to admit - he hastily leaves the hotel room. And he finds out that Ouma didn’t actually pay, he can only think profanities when he pulls out his wallet.)


	5. Love is in the Eye of the Beholder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saihara and Ouma have a talk. It takes an unanticipated turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue heavy chapter. It's kinda mEH but oK
> 
> also no warnings for once, yippee

It was not supposed to be like this.

Really, it had all started out as an elaborate joke. Ouma tended to preform such japes out of pure boredom, and boredom alone. He can’t describe how much he loathes being bored, it brings him utter despair. He’s someone who’s rarely caught off guard, his plans are succinct yet elaborate, he’s simple yet complicated, lighthearted yet serious, adorable yet threatening, a walking contradiction like he intends to be.

And it’s worth mentioning, the Phantom Thief’s plans never fail.

It began on their very first encounter, the flirting that is. Ouma flirts with everyone to watch their face contort into all kinds of expressions. Annoyance, surprise, intrigue, exasperation. Ouma simply found Saihara’s reaction rather cute.  
And that’s how it started.

Kokichi Ouma is not an obsessed schoolgirl. He’s not the protagonist of a cliché romance, and not a participant of a cheap dating show. He is a renowned thief, and supreme leader of an organization with over 10,000 members.

Yet he falls victim to such pathetic emotions.

He tells himself to stop, to stop leading himself down a path that will only bring him weakness and misery. To stop romancing the detective with the show-stopping eyelashes and honey-golden eyes that run over his figure so diligently. He almost, almost feels guilty for manipulating the detective the way he is. Because Kokichi won’t lie this time, he is most definitely manipulating him into confusion using flattery and lust. It’s not necessarily something he’s proud of, but he knows Saihara is smarter than that. He’s the biggest workaholic Ouma has ever met, and values his work more than his life (it’s sad, really). He won’t fall for such japes.

And he won’t fall for Ouma.  
One would have to be out of their goddamn mind to risk even liking Ouma’s presence.

Despite it all, he still finds himself on the roof of the detective’s apartment complex, Phantom Thief apparel and all. He leans on one of the whirring vents, listening to his cape muffle the turbines sounds.

His head perks up, top hat almost falling off his head when he hears the familiar _“clop clop clop”_ of ebony leather on marble staircases. When the roof’s door opens, his beloved enters his vision, focused on the lighter and cigarette in his hand rather than his surroundings.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Is Ouma’s choice opener. The detective freezes upon hearing the familiar malice that laces his sly tone of voice, and looks up. Ouma is pleasantly surprised to see him not wearing his obnoxious hat, so golden irises are all but invisible past messy bangs that fall over his complexion. He loves the way the honey colored orbs so skillfully scan his figure.

“O-Ouma-? What the hell are you doing here?” Saihara stands in place, lowering the lighter after the flame disappears.

“Just hanging out, enjoying the view, all that, y’know? How about yourself?”

The detective stares at the masked figure with a dumbfounded expression, which Kokichi can only find hilarious. Saihara hesitantly takes a cautious step forward.  
“You.... know my address?”

“Oh of course!” The thief hops off of the vent, holding the edges of his cape as though it was a princess dress. “I also know your private phone number and bank information. Your credit card number is 5420—“

Saihara is nervous at first, but the second he hears unfamiliar numbers he simply scoffs and rolls his eyes, relaxing tense shoulders. “Yeah yeah, okay.” He interrupts him with an exasperated, yet amused tone. “Why are you really here?” He adds on, bravely taking another step forward.

Ouma pouts under the mask. “Can’t we just have a conversation without it turning into an interrogation? I’m just here to talk to my beloved Shumai!”

Saihara scrunches his nose slightly, and his face contorts into a couple of different expressions as he pauses to think.  
“Is this.... some kind of trick....? Like the one in the Love Hotel...?”

_“T’wasn’t meant to be a trick..”_ Kokichi mumbles under his breath.  
“Of course not! You think I would dare and trick my beloved detective?”

Shuichi takes it as a rhetorical question, and goes back to fumbling with his lighter to light the cigarette resting between his fingers. He feels strangely relaxed despite standing next to a wanted criminal.  
“.....What do you want to talk about?” He hesitantly questions as he successfully lights the cig, and brings it to his lips. Unbeknownst to him, Ouma’s eyes follow his movements very thoroughly.

“Well, what do normal people talk about?”

Saihara’s eyebrow raises in question as a cloud of smoke erupts from his mouth when he speaks.  
“Normal people?”

“What?” The thief adjusts his hat. “Don’t tell me you consider us to be _“normal people.”_ I’m a wanted criminal and you’re the corrupt detective talking to him!”

“Touché.” Golden eyes look towards the night’s sky, painted dark blues and blacks, gracefully speckled with white dots. “I guess they talk about.....” He pauses for a moment, thinking to conversations he hears when he’s out and about in the office. “..How their day was..? How’s work..? Life, family?”

“Well, how was your day, detective?”

Saihara opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He neglects the cigarette in his hand as he searches for an answer with what was no doubt, a dumbfounded expression.  
“M-My day? Well um. Uh, my day was... fine? I mean, um, I don’t know? I-“

“You’re really bad at this.” Ouma says it straight. It’s not necessary, really, Shuichi knows how bad he can be with small talk. The least Ouma can do is sugarcoat it.

“I-I’m sorry— I just- I don’t understand what you’re trying to do?”

Is he dense, or overthinking? is the question Kokichi asks himself as he pinches his masked temples.  
“Shumai. There’s no trick. No jokes. Stop being a detective for a second.”

“.............So, you’re really just here to talk?” It takes a moment to answer, Saihara studies the thief’s sudden serious tone, looking for a sign of a lie or sarcasm. It’s devoid of trickery, he’s surprised to note, but Ouma is unpredictable, he’s learned throughout the time they’ve known each other.

“Thaaaat’s right!”

“And you’re not lying......?”

“You got it!”

“......Yeah, I’m still not buying it.”

“You’re hopeless.” Ouma gives up, turning his body the opposite direction to allow his cape to extravagantly flutter behind him. “I can’t seduce you, can’t talk to you... Shumai, you’re a lost cause!”

There’s a very small pang in Shuichi’s heart from the words. He knows better than anyone that he’s a lost cause. He inhales nicotine in an attempt to feel better (it doesn’t work).  
“Sorry..” He sincerely apologizes, and walks through the cloud of smoke he’s created to sit on the vent Ouma sat on earlier. Said thief turns to look at him when he hears the movement, and offers a tilt of the head.

Saihara offers a polite smile in return. “We can talk, if you want..” He motions towards the empty spot next to him.

Ouma is pleasantly surprised at the gesture, and plops down next to his beloved with no hesitation. Shuichi, who doesn’t expect him to be so close, scoots slightly to the side to put a notable space between them. Kokichi hides his disappointment at the action.  
“You’re awfully nonchalant for sitting next to a renowned criminal mastermind!”

“Well, I know you’re not gonna hurt me. And I don’t have anything you could steal from me, so I don’t really have a reason to be afraid..”

“But that’s a lie! I’ve already stolen something from you!”

Saihara sighs, Ouma thinks the way smoke falls out of his mouth by the breath is entrancing.  
“My heart?” He rolls his eyes as he says it, and Ouma is ashamed to admit that he can’t understand the emotion behind his tone for once.

“Aw, Shumai knows me so well!”

“Call it being repetitive......” He brings the cigarette back to his lips, and Ouma can’t help but discreetly stare at the action, watching delicate yet slightly cracked and bruised lips (from anxious gnawing, he’s full of bad habits isn’t he?) wrap around the cigarette butt gently.

“You hit deep.” He says in his best overdramatic pained voice. Smoke silhouettes erupt from bruised lips, framed by the night sky’s constellations and lights. Ouma can only stare.  
“Aren’t you tired of that? Wouldn’t you rather have me on your lips instead?”

Saihara pauses for a brief moment. Even in the dim atmosphere of the night, the crimson creeping up his neck is hard to miss. But he still gives the routine roll of the eyes.  
“Why.”

“Cause it’s funny. And you’re cute. Shumai must be popular with the ladies with such a face!”

“I— That’s not......” He trails off, unsure where to go with his sentence. He fills his lungs with smoke instead.

“Not what?” The thief questions innocently. He’s almost... childlike, sometimes. “You’re constantly surrounded by women!”

“They’re my work colleagues.”

“Potato, potahto.” Ouma leans towards his shoulder, plum locks barely brushing against his arm. Anyone with half a brain can see how Saihara tenses at the action.

“At least tell me if I have a chance, hmm? I’d be really sad if I’ve been leading you on this whole time only to find out you don’t bark up that side of the tree at all! I might even cry, so don’t go breaking my heart, okay?”

The detective takes a brief moment to process the sentence, quickly coming to a conclusion. “Are..... you asking me if I’m attracted to men....?”

“That’s right! I needa make sure I’m not wasting my time, y’know?” (As if he hasn’t spent a whole year and a half flirting with with him.) The thief nudges his shoulder, and he takes another puff of his cigarette to distract himself from the physical contact. Golden eyes look off to the side as he thinks about how honest he wants to be with a criminal who’s so strangely enamored with him.

“....That’s..... none of your business...” He chooses the evasion tactic, but he should know better. Ouma never falls for it.

“Are you embarrassed about it Shumai? It’s fine y’know, I’m the last person to judge my beloved!” He pulls his head away from Shuichi’s shoulder, intently watching his stature relax slightly. “And besides, I already know the answer. Your totally obvious excitement in the Love Hotel was not subtle at allllll!”

“W-Wh-What—?! I don’t know what you’re-“ Saihara stops briefly, already knowing lying to the Phantom Thief is useless. “I-I mean— It wasn’t- I wasn’t- It just—“ He tumbles on his words, and his face is long past crimson.  
Ouma can’t tell if his efforts to evade the accusation is cute or pathetic. He decides on both, since it’s not what he’s focused on. He’s actually more surprised at the confirmation, since he had initially said it as a joke.  
“Oh? So Shumai was actually aroused?! What a _perv~~~_ ” He teases with that lilt in his voice that he knows drives Saihara up the walls.

“W-Well what does it matter whether I’m attracted to men or not—-“ The detective makes the smart move to switch to the topic that embarrasses him slightly less. “It shouldn’t concern you-! It’s a private matter—“

The small sigh of relief is went unnoticed by Shuichi, Ouma smirks under the mask. “Isn’t it obvious? Cause I love you~!”

“Okay, but you’re not........” He trails off for a moment. The cigarette sits in his hand, neglected. “It’s not like you’re serious about that......”

Ah, it’s a knife through Ouma’s chest. The sentence hurts him more than he should allow it to. Saihara might as well burn him with the cigarette, it’d hurt less. It’s fine though, everything’s alright, Ouma really doesn’t know what he was expecting. He’s okay, he lies to himself.  
“Waah! So rude Shuichi... I’m crushed.”

“What, are you trying to say you’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious!” His tone comes off a little more annoyed than he desires, he sees Saihara’s eyebrow visibly raise at the statement. “So dense...” He adds on, watching the neglected cigarette finally be raised to his lips in thought.

The detective breathes out another cloud of smoke. His throat is burning. His lungs are burning. His eyes even water oh-so slightly due to the overwhelming amount he inhales. He suppresses the impending cough, and it hurts so good.  
“Let’s... Let’s say you’re serious,” Saihara turns to face the thief’s fake visage. “..why?”

“Why?” Kokichi dangles his legs, swinging them back and forth. Sometimes Shuichi feels like he’s staring at a child who’s wandered into a costume shop. And just so happened to have a good sense of style and color. “Why does anyone love anyone?”

“That’s....” He huffs, unsure of what he’s expecting. “If you were being serious right now, I wouldn’t believe you..”

“Oh mannn...” Ouma drags out the second word a good few seconds, tapping the chin of his mask with an ebony gloved index finger.  
“What would I have to do to, say, get Shumai to believe me?”

“....I.. I don’t know— Why is this important?”

“Because I want to know. I’ll give you another chance to answer honestly, okay Shuichi?” The tone is cheerful yet threatening. Though Saihara knows he’s not the violent type (surprisingly, he thought when he first figured the fact out), the simple malice in his voice is enough to drive him to a corner. He complies.

“........I.. I guess I’d want genuine honesty and expression. I mean, if someone really did love me, I’d want them to be straightforward and simple about it.”

“Oh? Is it because you’re so bad at picking up romantic cues that you’d rather just have them give it to you straight?”  
Judging by the way the detective ignores the comment and avoids answering by busying himself with the cigarette, Ouma has hit the bullseye.

“Okay, okay,” Ouma begins, he beckons Shuichi to lean forward by performing a “come hither” motion with his finger. Saihara hesitates, but taps his cigarette to let pending ashes fall to the rooftop’s ground, and holds it to the side so that he can properly face the thief.  
He isn’t mentally prepared for what happens next.

Ouma places a hand on the bottom of his own chin, and slowly (there’s almost this hesitance in his movement, Saihara notes.) begins to lift the hollow clown mask that obscures his face all too often. Shuichi’s face contorts into a wide-eyed stare as soft lips come into view. And that’s all. He stops there, the mask lifted only ever so slightly to see a mouth. Ouma’s mouth, to be exact.  
And if that isn’t enough to drive Shuichi to an anxious and confused panic, Ouma does something even more unexpected.

Saihara really thought he was used to Ouma’s routines, his unpredictability, he truly thought he had the ability to expect even the unexpected from him. Hell, he’s known him for a year and a half and has grown accustomed to his trickery and lies. He knows Ouma can and will go above and beyond to mess with him, much like at the Love Hotel (though was he really messing around there....?).  
But when he sees dark, wild locks, a pale chin, and small, shiny, seemingly soft lips approaching his own, his mind goes to a full blown panic.

Ouma nears his face slowly, his body inevitably getting closer as well. He can see clear panic (and intrigue..?) as he moves to slot his lips into the others. Ouma ensures that his pace slows, so that Shuichi has the chance to think and back out if he so desires.  
It shouldn’t, but it hurts so much when he does.

Saihara pulls his head back after intently staring at lips that were clearly aimed for his own. He pushes the twinge of disappointment he feels into the back of his head before voicing his panic.  
“Y-You’re- You’re serious?!” His voice cracks slightly and he hates it, but it’s not the matter at hand.

“You cannot convince me that renowned detective, Shuichi Saihara, known for being analytical and diligent in his work, hasn’t noticed the romantic advances I’ve been giving you for the past year.”

“I didn’t think you were dead serious—!” The detective drops his cigarette to the ground, and stubs it out. Not even a smoke will help him now.  
Was it obvious? Was it _meant_ to be obvious? Is he truly so dense that he brushed it all off as a joke, and it took a kiss (that didn’t even happen!) to snap him out of his unconscious denial?

“I-I can’t- I cant possibly do something like that—“ He begins, a hand making it’s way into navy locks. “Ouma you’re a criminal- _Talking_ to you is bad enough, protecting your _identity_ is bad enough! I can’t possibly be involved with you like- like _that_ -“

Sweet sweet rejection.

“Well, obviously I knew you were gonna say that!” The thief quickly quips, pulling his figure as far as he can from Saihara, and standing up abruptly. “I know Shumai’s too smart to fall for my tricks, what a shame!” He allows him to see the exaggerated pout before pulling his mask back to cover his mouth once more.

“Wh-What are you—“

“It was all one big ploy, y’see? I was trying to manipulate you into liking me so that I could infiltrate the Future Foundation from the inside!” He sets his hands on his hips. “But Saihara’s just too good, isn’t he?”

“.....Is that..... really the truth?” The detective questions. There’s no doubt in his mind that it’s entirely possible, as he’s mentioned before, Ouma will go to great lengths to accomplish his goals. But something here seems so... off to Saihara, that he can’t quite place his finger on it.

There’s a malicious laugh from the thief, his endearing horse whinnying he does all too often. “Awww... Does Shumai think he huwt my feewings? Don’t start falling for me now, it won’t work out with my plans anymore!”

“But I—-“

“I’d love to toy with you some more, but I have an organization to lead!” His legs carry him to the door in a swift manner. Much like in the Love Hotel, Shuichi can’t find it in himself to stop him.  
And much like in the Love Hotel, Ouma is running away.

“Ouma—-“ He musters, but the thief is halfway out the door, theoretically, there’s still a chance to stop him. “I didn’t say that I—-“  
The sound of the door closing cuts off his sentence with ease. It dies down into a mumble.  
 _“—don’t like you at all........”_

He lights another cigarette.

———

As Ouma runs down the marble steps of the apartment complex, he’s completely fine. He is not disappointed by the detective’s answer (he saw it coming). He is not “heartbroken” or “crushed”. And he absolutely does not tear up at the thought that he’s spent so much time enamored with the only person he felt complete him, only to inevitably hear the rejection from his own mouth.

He already knew the answer. Letting himself be crushed by the heavy weight of an outright rejection is one step closer to bouncing back and getting over it, he tells himself.

(One can only assume he waits until he’s alone in his car to weep quietly, until he numbs himself and forgets it ever happened.)


	6. Happiness is a Hop and a Skip Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saihara reaches for the stars.
> 
> **Chapter Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt (more or less)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the writing feels weird in this chapter idk but whateverrr hgurhdg im so tired

He feels blades of grass peaking through gnawed fingers. He feels a steady breeze on his face, weaving through strands of navy blue. He feels his arms and lower back ache from the inside out, begging him to rest.  
He feels  
empty.

“Shuichi! How are those pushups going?” Kaito’s voice pierces through his thoughts when he sees his friend’s arms and shoulders trembling oh so slightly.

“Th..They’re um,” the detective lowers himself until his arms are at a 90 degree angle, and his limbs give way, his body pulsing with aches as the grass itches his arms. He’s too tired to scratch them.  
“Difficult.” He finished the sentence, letting his cheek rest on the rough surface.

“I mean, I’m not saying that 67 is a bad count, but you can usually get to a hundred..” Kaito sits on the ground next to him, picking at some rocks with sturdy hands.

“I know..” Shuichi replies in a mumble, watching Kaito fumble with the nature with perplexed eyes.  
“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” He lies, Kaito isn’t Kokichi, he can’t see through the blatant fib. “I’m just a bit tired today..” It’s such a classic excuse and transparent lie, that even Kaito pauses in though before nodding his head, choosing to put his trust in the detective.  
“It’s alright, you’ll do better next week! We’re done for today.”

Shuichi nods, but makes no effort to get up. Instead, he simply rolls onto his back, looking up at the starry sky Kaito is oh-so fond of.

“....Kaito?”

Kaito recognizes the tone of his voice. It’s Shuichi’s _“I’m feeling down and need to be reassured with optimistic advice”_ tone. He’s always happy to lend his optimism when the detective needs it, it’s one of his best qualities, he believes.  
“What’s up sidekick?”

“You like Maki, right?”

“Well, we’re practically best friends!” Kaito smiles at the thought of her, there’s a twinge of disappointment in the back of his head at the fact Maki couldn’t make it to today’s training.

“I meant romantically, but sure, that too..”

“Wh— Whoa! Where’d you get _that_ from??” His heart drops to his stomach as he looks at Shuichi with a defensive glare. The detective has the audacity to give him a sly smile.

“I _am_ a detective.. and... it’s a _bit_ obvious...” He chuckles nervously as he studies the way Kaito’s shoulders slump at being called out.  
“That’s not the point though... I just wanted to ask...” He pauses for a moment, clearly searching for the right words to use.

“I mean.... Maki, she’s not always that nice to you..”

“She’s just a bit cold!”

“And she’s been involved in some..... um, how do I word this.... not so good things in the past...?”  
Maki’s leaked history as an assassin is no secret amongst their friend group. It’s a subject no one dares to graze (aside from Kaito, who’s nobly tried to get her to open up and feel better about herself), but is very much known and present.

“What’s your point?” Kaito tilts his head, unsure of what Shuichi is getting at.

“Does that affect your feelings towards her?”

There’s a short silence as Kaito processes his question with a pondering look on his face. It doesn’t take long for him to form a response.  
“Of course not.” Is the answer he gives with a dazzling smile, reminiscent of the crescent moon he loves. When he sees Shuichi watching him with curious golden irises, waiting for him to elaborate, he continues.  
“Maybe she’s done some things she isn’t proud of in the past, but that doesn’t define who she is as a person today! Even if there’s still a bit of bad in her, it’ll always be overruled by all the good! She deserves that chance to change, y’know? It’s almost like the yin yang.”

“Opposite forces are complimentary...” Shuichi stares at the sky, his pupils follow a winking red light of a plane.

“In a lot of good there’s a little bit of bad!”

“And in the bad there’s a little bit of good....” He completes him. “I dunno about that, I mean, where’s the little bit of bad in you, Kaito?”

Kaito laughs a hearty laugh, it’s a sweet and reassuring sound to Shuichi’s ears.  
“Shuichi, you sweet-talker!”  
The detective smiles a lopsided grin, picking at the blades of grass underneath him.  
“Don’t worry, I won’t steal you away from Maki...... But, um, if you had to.... potentially give some things up just to be happy with her... I mean, would you- I mean, say someone told you to pick between going to space and having a long, loving relationship with her.. What would you do?”

“Of course I’d choose her.”

“Really???” Shuichi raises an eyebrow. Kaito loves space more than anything, he’s obsessed. He’s dreamed of it since he was a child and it’s all he ever talks about.

“Y’know, there’s a quote that says.... Reach for the moon, even if you fall short, you’ll land among the stars.” Kaito joins Shuichi, laying on the grass near his friend. “I think it’s saying, reach for all your dreams and aspirations as much as you can, but even if you won’t get them in the long run, you’ll still be satisfied with what you have, the stars, the things in life that make it worth living... So, even if I never go to space, at the end of the day, I’ll still be happy, because I have my friends and family.” His head turns to face Shuichi, who stares in a pondering silence, clad in a blank expression. “Happiness comes first Shuichi, if you’re not happy, well, what’s the point of reaching for the moon?”

“If I’m not happy.........?”

“Are you?”

......am I?

———

Kaito’s words linger in his head for the rest of the evening.

They tug at his hair as he says goodbye to Kaito, and thanks him for the training session.  
They claw at his skull as he gets into his car and ponders in the driver’s seat in a dead silence.  
They whisper coldly into his ears as he starts the car, and listens to the engine speak to him.  
They scratch at his eyeballs as he turns right at an intersection, and enters a road that goes out of the city.  
They wrap around his neck as he stops the car, and steps out into the cold air of the night.

He’ll take a walk.

Saihara ponders for a moment, but ultimately decides to leave his signature trench coat in the car, deciding that he likes the way the cold breeze hugs his stature. He locks his car, and heads for a path for hikers, bikers, and other people who don’t have a life but have the energy to spare on the endless trail.

He walks.  
His legs drag him along a tranquil night path, he knows for a fact it eventually merges into a bridge that’s above a busy highway.

And that’s where he’ll answer Kaito’s question.

Are you happy.  
Are you happy.  
Are you happy.

Three words endlessly pushing Saihara towards the edge of an abyss that’s calling his name.

Saihara is not a happy person. He’s been miserable in one way or another ever since he can remember being a child. And he hates it, well who wouldn’t?  
And he hates himself for it. Because it’s unfair.

It’s unfair that his uncle who’s cared for him ever since his parents left him is not enough to make him happy. It’s unfair that his loving friends who are oh-so kind to him are not enough to make him happy. It’s unfair that his dream come true of being a famed detective is not enough to make him happy. It’s unfair that his decent wealth is not enough to make him happy.  
And it’s absolutely, horridly unfair that Kokichi Ouma, the Phantom Thief, a national criminal and leader of a huge organization, made him happy. Even if it was for but a brief moment.

And it’s unfair that he pushed away the only thing that made him happy.

Ouma is flawed, in every sense of the word. He’s a criminal. He’s inappropriate. He’s garish. He’s narcissistic. He’s a liar. He’s manipulative. He will step on people to get what he needs. He will trick people to get what he wants. He will toy with people’s emotions as he so desires.  
Yet in all that bad, there was good.  
Ouma is kind, underneath the malicious, over-exaggerated evil act. He believes in justice, and his organization only ever attacks those who’ve bested the unfair justice system of the world. Saihara admires his passion for justice, and disdain for violence. Ouma wouldn’t dare hurt a fly, let alone a person, an innocent one at that.

And he out of all people, took a liking towards Saihara.

And he pushed him away. Rejected his claims. Denied his feelings. Crushed his confession in the most brutal way he could.

The Phantom Thief can lie all he wants, but even the most proficient of liars have cracks in their masks every so often. He made a mistake, he had forgotten the little change in uniform. At the time, Ouma had raised his mask to expose his mouth, and Shuichi saw it. The quiver of delicate lips, an automatic frown for a fraction of a second the moment the rejection was processed. It was so genuine that it hurt.

And it was all Saihara’s fault.

It pains him to think of what would have happened had he said nothing. Their lips would have slotted, and then what? Would sparks fly? Would his heart be engulfed in a passionate flame and make him forget every problem he’s ever had? He could have had Ouma. He could have had that thread to hold on to.  
And his words cut right through it. He let doubt and anxiety control him as per usual.

And it was happening again, wasn’t it? It’s what he tells himself when he stops at the bridge. There’s nothing but a concrete wall separating him and the highway below, and cars speed below his feet, lights blurry as they zoom underneath the bridge.

He’s just having a bad day. It’s what he tries to tell himself as he walks over to the thin concrete wall. His chest his pounding with an abundance of anxiety, he can barely breathe with the invisible pressure on his lungs, all he hears over the sounds of speeding cars is his heavy panting as he hoists himself over the concrete wall.  
There’s a narrow area, wide enough to just barely stand on, with absolutely nothing separating his body and the cars below. The tips of his shoes hang off the bridge’s edge while his heels are pressed up against the wall.

All it takes is a nudge. A push. A leap of faith and he’ll plummet into the road and be run over by unsuspecting bystanders who couldn’t possibly know what was coming, poor bastards.  
In but a second, Saihara could just end it all. Every doubt he’s ever had, all the anxiety he’s ever experienced will disappear into oblivion the moment his bones crack and blood gushes out of open wounds, it’d be a horrendous sight to see.

But it wouldn’t matter, it’s not like he’d be there to see it.

The wind is so cold on his face and forearms, exposed by rolled up sleeves. He wants to think of how this would hurt his friends, his uncle, but all that comes to mind is no more stress. No more work. No more sleepless nights and lying awake in bed when his body his begging him to sleep. No more cold cases that make his blood boil and have him feel like a failure of a detective. No more disappointed, angry, tragic expressions when Saihara exposes the truth of a case. No more feeling like a negative burden on his friends who have only ever tried to support him, even if their words sometimes end up hurting him in the process.  
No more no more no more no more no more no more

Saiahra isn't a good person. He puts his cases and work over friends and family, and allows a petty thief to engulf his thoughts more than them. God, he feels like he's turning into his parents, neglecting everything that should be important for the sake of being a selfish bastard. He's just like them, work over friends. Work over family (just thinking about _that_ makes him want to disappear). Work over hobbies.   
Work over life.

The detective lifts up a foot experimentally, the exhilaration he gets upon feeling his leg being unsupported is unreal. He supposes he’s always been a little out-of-sorts. Ouma has referred to him as “his twisted detective” in the past, and Saihara can’t completely disagree. To be fair, he did erase all evidence of Ouma’s name for the sake of keeping their games going.

It’s horrid, how much evidence Saihara has burned to keep a criminal in action. But he couldn’t live with himself if he saw Ouma behind bars, he just doesn’t deserve it, no matter how aggravating he can be.  
That’s hardly the reason though. It’s stupid how much Saihara would look forward to their silly games. Rock Paper Scissors, hide n seek, tag, cards, dice..... Ouma made him feel like a kid again. Ouma made him smile like he never had before, he made him laugh until he cried.

It’s so stupid. So stupid.

He wouldn’t ever dare to admit it, but he adores the Phantom Thief case. It was fun, exhilarating, Ouma always kept Shuichi on his toes, and surprised him in the most pleasant of ways. He always looked forward to D.I.C.E cases for how different they were. Ouma’s personality truly brought it all together.  
And the thought of it ending pains Saihara to no end. Because really, will Ouma ever want to talk to him normally after the rejection?

Saihara ruined his chances at being happy.

So what was the point of reaching for the moon?

He really doesn’t want Ouma to be the last thing he thinks about while he’s still alive, so he desperately tries to think of his uncle, Kaito, Kaede, Kirigiri, Maki.....  
But he remembers a sweet giggle, reminiscent of a whinnying horse. A sly smile underneath a hollow clown mask. A mystery he wants to unravel oh so much. A person he genuinely wants to get to know (too late for that, he supposes).

His lungs hurt from breathing in the cold air so rapidly, he hasn’t noticed how his breath has picked up. The speed of the cars below him are as fast as ever. His mind is screaming so many different things and he just wants silence. The war in his head is giving him an aching migraine.  
And his grip on the concrete wall grows lighter and lighter by the second.

A memory comes to mind. A heist, the most recent one at that. In which the thief stole a topaz from the detective’s own hat. He doesn’t know why the memory suddenly comes, but he does remember Ouma’s stupid fucking joke.  
 _“Got your nose!”_

Saihara finds himself smiling at the thought. He smiles at the stupid flirting he does. He smiles at the thought of Kaito pointing at constellations and he smiles at the thought of Kirigiri praising him for a breakthrough. He smiles at memories of Kaede bringing the group pastries from the local bakery, and Kaito hogging all the croissants. He smiles at all the little things. He’s smiling so hard it hurts.

It hurts so much.

It hurts so much when he starts laughing at the happy memories. His lungs are begging for normal breathing as his heart beats up a storm. He’s laughing so hard it hurts his chest and worsens his migraine. He’s laughing so hard he almost loses his grip on the wall completely. He’s laughing so hard he barely notices the amount of tears running down his face and staining it with smeared black liner. He looks ridiculous, he can’t stop laughing, he can’t stop crying.

Is he happy?


	7. Fall in Love with the Sounds of Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be a quiet day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WAH IM ALIVE!!!! this story isn't dead i swear life is just hectic  
> anyways!!!! enjoy these literal disasters  
> and yeah the chapter seems kind of rushed my apologies, the next chapter's pacing should be better!
> 
> **Chapter Warnings: Brief prescription drug use, alcohol.**

Would anyone believe that today was the first day Shuichi has ever called in sick to work in his 24 years of life?

The undertones of bewilderment and concern in Kirigiri’s tone when he calls are fairly obvious, but she makes no direct comment, and wishes him good health. Shuichi can only imagine the office gossip that will shortly ensue.

He’s decided to take what Kaede would refer to as a “Self-Care Day”. The recent encounters with the Phantom Thief (Saihara hardly wants to even refer to him by name anymore) has drilled a gaping hole into his well-being, and drained any drive he had left in his empty shell of a person. Yesterday’s drastic actions only proved his state was declining again, although it felt as though it had never happened. Saihara is amazed at how after hoisting himself back over the cement wall, he simply drove himself home and passed out on the couch as if the whole ordeal never took place.  
No one knew, and no one needed to.

When he texts Kaede asking for advice on how to have a so-called “Self-Care Day”, he’s greeted with scads of elated text messages. He can’t help the way the corner of his lips turn up ever-so-slightly when he looks towards his phone screen.

**2 messages from Kaede at 7:36AM.**

**Kaede: SHUICHI!!!!!! IM SO PROUD OF YOU!!**

**Kaede: sorry for my enthusiasm but it’s about tiiiiiime**

**You: I suppose I’m inclined to agree**

**You: I still don’t know how to do this though**

**Kaede: That’s what I’m here for <3**

A sudden long text appears in the conversation, clearly pasted from an existing note due to the inhumane amount of time that had passed between that and the last message. Shuichi won’t lie, her eagerness to help was admirable as ever. He leans back on his couch as insubstantial eyes scan through the abundance of text.

**1 message from Kaede at 7:38AM.**

**Kaede: ~Kaede’s Guide to a Self-Care Day~**   
**A hot bath, preferably a bubble bath! If feeling extra sad, brighten up the day with a fun bath bomb!**   
**Moisturize your face and get a light, herbal face mask to make you feel refreshed.**   
**Change into comfortable clothing! (Ex. Robe, sweatpants, pajamas, etc.....)**   
**Make yourself something good to eat. (Preferably something healthy!)**   
**In addition, depending on your mood, get a hot herbal tea or a glass of wine.**   
**Soft blankets and Netflix! Watch stupid romcoms or chick flicks!**   
**Play and instrument or sing. (humming works too)**   
**Read a book!**   
**Try meditation!**   
**Nap <3 cuddle a teddy bear or pillow!**   
**Take a walk around nature, watch the sunset, go lie on the beach!**   
**Get enough hours of sleep!**

**You: wow**

**You: You already prepared a list in advance?**

**Kaede: yeayeaaaa! I made it for Maki at some point**

**Kaede: don’t tell her I told you that tho oops**

**Kaede: omg I just had the best idea!!!!!!**

**You: what ??**

Shuichi stares at the screen for a good minute, before setting his phone down to make some coffee. If he was going to do this, he might as well be awake enough to execute this day. He won’t lie, he was sure a “Self-Care Day” only consisted of sleeping and lazing about, and he’s slightly relieved it isn’t that, unsure if he could physically muster to do such a thing.

As his spoon clinks again the mug’s edges while mixing the pure concoction of coffee beans and hot water, he glances down at his phone, tapping the touch screen to awaken it.

**No new notifications.**

He sighs, and the phone is pushed to the side to make way for the steaming mug of coffee. It was almost 8 o’clock, so Kaede was presumably on her way to work, hence her sudden absence.

Twenty minutes pass, and he’s on his second cup of the day. He decides to skim through the list again, reading each suggestion one by one, Shuichi practically hears Kaede’s voice as he reads the text, the hearts and exclamations being extremely Kaede-esque. Most of the tasks on the list are simple enough to complete , considerably so, since they’re supposed to give him apparent relaxation.  
After brief thinking, Shuichi decides it’s best to start with the bath to ensure he’s refreshed for the entire day.

As he stands to set his cup in the sink, there’s a peppy, energetic knock at the apartment door that almost startles the mug out of his hand. After regaining his composure and putting the mug in it’s rightful place, he makes a hesitant saunter to the apartment door. He hasn’t made plans with anyone, nor is he meeting a client today, so he’s unsure of who to expect when the door swings open.

“Good morning Shuichi!” Kaede’s voice, light and kind as ever, calls out before the door is even completely open.

“Kaede.... What are you doing here?”

“Helping.” She promptly responds as a plastic shopping bag is thrust into the detective’s hands.  
“Don’t worry! It’s just some stuff that’ll help you today. I picked it up from the pharmacy on the way to work, so it was no biggie.”

“You uh-? Thank you?” Is the rather pathetic bewildered reply he can muster, still slightly shaken from the unexpected visit. He watches as Kaede eyes him, visibly scanning up and down as she studies every crevice of his face.

“No offense, but you do kind of look like, uh..” She trails off for a moment, eyes thoughtfully aimed at the apartment floor.

“Like shit?”

“Well, I was going to sugarcoat it, but yeah... It’s not a bad thing of course- Just freshen up and rest today.. I hope I could help!”

“You always do Kaede..” He manages a genuine smile, glad to see relief wash over the other.

“I’ll get out of your hair then! I’ll see you tomorrow at work?”  
After a steady nod, she cheerfully wishes him good health accompanied by an enthusiastic wave. Shuichi watches her blonde locks bob as she jogs down the apartment complex stairs.

After the door closes, Shuichi drags his feet to the kitchen table, reveling in the way his socks gracefully slide against polished wood. Setting the plastic bag on the table, a small wave of curiosity comes crashing over his eyelids as he disposes of the bag to see what was inside.

The first thing he spots is a violet hued ball shaped item. As it’s the first thing that catches his attention, he closes his fingers around it and examines the tag on it’s surface.  
“Lavender Scented Bath Bomb”  
From what he recalls, a bath bomb is one of those balls that dissolve in water and paints the bath water in colorful hues. A product more associated with aesthetic despite it’s additional cleansing properties. Saihara snickers slightly at the fact Kaede thought he’d be bored enough to use such a thing, and simultaneously curses her for her choice in color. The thief smelled slightly of lavender too.

Not that Shuichi had snuck a sniff of his scent or anything.

He continues to rummage through the bag, the next item was a thin red box, topped with a sleek black ribbon and packaged neatly. Dark chocolate, and 80% too, Kaede knows him all too well, and he smiles at the thought.  
Another small box, white and lime green in hue, and light in his grasp. Face masks? Kaede was really trying to paint him in a scene from a rom com. He finds it silly, but it’s amusing nonetheless and keeps a smile on his face.

He already knows what the last item is, the top peaks out from the bag and taunts his meek desire. A sleek bottle of wine, 2018 Merlot, a personal favorite of his. Unsure if Kaede is trying to reignite a drinking problem or not, he leaves the bottle be in the bag.

His eyes ponder the things strewn across the table. He supposes if he’s going to do this, he might as well get refreshed. With a moment of hesitation, he ends up taking the bath bomb along to the bathroom. Maybe it’d be fun, he scoffs slightly at his fake optimism.

As the tub fills, Shuichi does nothing but watch after stripping himself of his clothing that reek of yesterday. When it’s filled fo a satisfactory height (that being almost to the tub’s brim - he couldn’t care less), he unwraps and tosses the bath bomb in. He won’t lie, he thinks it’s kind of stupid, but it’s quite satisfying to watch the ball dissolve and the color spread throughout the bath’s water.

When he steps in, as he expects, some water spills over the top. The now slightly purple tinted bathroom carpet would be a problem for future Shuichi. The feeling is satisfying however, not a care in the world as hot water of a purple hue engulfs his aching skin. He can’t help the content sighs as he relaxes into the water and leans his head backwards.

And it lasts for about thirty seconds.

He becomes bored, so his mind inevitably wanders. The first thing that comes to mind is the color of the water, bathing in purple was certainly interesting, but it did have a pleasant aroma to it. That, combined with the color...  
His fingers run along the water, he watches the water ripple when his fingers cut through. Oh to think what it’d be like to run his fingers through those locks. What a cursed thought it is, but it’s supposed to be a self care day, so he lets himself indulge in the fantasy for a moment. As his fingers run through the water, he can’t help but think.  
What does the Phantom Thief do outside of that mask?

“You cannot mope around all day because of that detective.”

“I’m not moping.” A pale hand drags across his face, entangling nimble fingers in between purple locks. “I’m working.”

“Yeah?” His colleague tilts her head, ashy pink hair framing an annoyed expression. The echo of her heels against the floor are prominent in the room as she walks over to stand over Ouma. “Page’s empty.”

“I just started."

“You’ve been sitting here in the same position for three hours, your lies don’t work on me, Ko.”

His other hand taps the notebook as he ponders his fingers above the empty page. He needs to ask Rantaro to redo his polish, the ends were beginning to chip.  
“So it is, what a genius observation. Don’t you have something better to do than mothering me around?”

“Well, someone has to do it, and I’ll tell you, it’s not gonna be the detective.”

Kokichi let’s out a prolonged sigh. “Again with this. What do you have against him? You don’t even know him.”

“I know he’s not worth your moping. He’s just some detective enamored with an interesting case. He’s got issues, and he’s a drug addict.”

“He’s not an addict.” He rolls his eyes, slumping down in is chair. It’s times like these where he actually wants to wear his mask for once. A metaphorical one would have to do.

“You know I know what they look like.”

“Yeah yeah, you were a junkie, I know. But he’s different. You haven’t met him, you wouldn’t get it-“

“Stop. Moping. Get to work, that’s the end of this argument.”

“You just know I’d win.” He scowls, watching her exit the room with the small slam of the door. He didn’t have the time to deal with her overprotective behavior now, he thinks to himself as he buries his head into crossed arms, tapping his pen against the table.

He doesn’t move when the door opens once more, perhaps they’d think he was asleep so he wouldn’t have to deal with anyone else nagging him.

“Ko! I’m here for the Factory Heist outline!” The optimistic high pitched tone of yet another colleague of his rings. Ouma remains in the same position, perhaps he should pretend to snore to accompany it?

“Oh, are you still sad about Little ol’ Detective Conan?” She skips to his side, paying no mind to personal space as she sets a chair next to him and takes a seat.

“What did we say about personal space, Cee-Lo?” He grumbles, lifting his head ever so slightly to ensure she sees the glare he’s shooting at her. She pays no mind, and has the audacity to smile at him.

“Well, are you?” She repeats, no filter as per usual for her.

“I guess.”

“That’s fair. He was pretty hot.” She bravely pats his back, he raises his head, setting it upon the back of his hands.  
“Yeah. Hot.” He mumbles in an aggravated tone. As much as Ouma loves his friends and colleagues, they were hopeless when it came to feelings of this caliber. Not that he was any better, of course.

“I heard you and Midnight arguing again.”

“Yeah, well, Midnight should stop telling me what to do and what to feel.”

“We’re just looking out for you, Ko.”

His head finally turns to face her, accompanied with an annoyed glare. “Don’t forget who’s your boss.”

“I know, I know, I just don’t like seeing Detective-chan getting you down!” She frowns ever-so-slightly, the expression is a rarity on her.

“He’s not- Why are you guys-“ He groans, dropping his pen in favor of rubbing his temples instead. “I’m over it already. I’ll show you guys, I’ll go pester him right now and everything’ll be back to normal, you’ll see that you’re just exaggerating.” With that statement, he stands, ensuring the drag of his chair is heard by the whole base, and steps out of the room.

It would have been as dramatic as he hoped if not for his phone deciding to ring right after the exit. He sighs as he brings the screen up to his face, walking to his private quarters as he does so. His face can’t help but scrunch up as he taps the green answer button.  
“What’s up, pig tits?”

“P-Pig tits—-?!”

“I just thought that one up, you like it?” He sneers, setting the phone down on his desk after setting the call to speaker phone.

“Whatever! What are you doing right now, midget?”

“Mmmm..” He stalls, pulling his shirt over his head to change into his usual white dress shirt and vest. “Working. Why?”

“Are you still moping about Dicktective Depression?”

“No. I’m over it, it’s not like I even cared.” He lies through his teeth as he does the checkered tie around his collar.

“Good. Come out to a bar with me!”

“I’m busy. And who goes to a bar at 7pm? Are you that desperate to get laid?” He rolls his eyes as he pulls on his boots, fastening the buckles impatiently.

There’s a brief moment of silence, at which Kokichi snickers, until Miu speaks up again. “I’m just fucking bored. I’m waiting for my patent application to be approved.”

“Yeah? What’s your latest invention, a robotic dominatrix?”

“Fuck you. It’s a humidifier that—“

“I don’t care~” He interrupts her in a sing song voice, fastening his cape around his shoulders.

“What the fuck is all that shuffling? Last time I checked, jacking off isn’t working. Depends on the job, of course!” She laughs obnoxiously.

“You’re disgusting. I am working, leave me alone, we’ll go another day.” He adds at the end, maybe a day off wouldn’t be so bad, even if it was with Miu.

“You’re boring. Go sit on a cactus.”

“Suck your own tit, Miu. Bye bye!” He gracefully taps the end call button along with a tip of his hat, despite the lack of audience. With that, he turns to the mirror in the corner of the room and poses with his hand in the air. He’d show them all was well.

Was smoking a cigarette in favor or against a self care day? On one hand it’d calm his nerves, while on the other hand it’d eat away at his lungs.  
Realistically, it’s too late to ask the question, since he was already halfway through the smoke. He hates himself a little more with each cigarette. It takes a brief moment, but he does eventually succeed at guilting himself into putting it out. He rids himself of the cigarette ashes and exits the rooftop, shoving the lighter deep into his pocket.

The day had gone by smoothly enough, though he’s unsure that what he’s done would be considered “self-care”. After the morning bath, which he sat in for no more than two hours, he lazed about on his couch watching whatever Netflix threw at him, and of course he eventually gave in to the wine, it’d be a shame to waste.  
He’d probably have to make up some white lies when Kaede inevitably asks him what he did tomorrow.

Either way, it was another issue for future Shuichi. He hops down the steps and walks towards his apartment, he had paused an episode of a drama that he was rather curious to see the ending to.  
The second he enters his apartment, he freezes in place after hearing a sound. Clear shuffling, and not from himself.

He pauses his breathing to listen closely, perhaps he was being paranoid.  
But the sound of a window closing shut proves him otherwise. He stands in place, boots frozen to the floor and hand still gripping his lighter tightly in his pocket. The detective looks around for something to be used in the worst of circumstances, the first thing he can grab is the wine bottle on the kitchen counter, still a quarter of the way full, but it’d work well as a makeshift bat or something to throw.

Gripping the glass bottle tightly, he drags his feet to the wall as silently as he can muster. As soon as his back is up against the wall, he shuffles towards the corner to peer over the side, and hopefully catch a glimpse of nothing.  
The second he glances, there’s a shadow cast along the floor, caused by something in the way of the television’s light. He sighs (in his head), attempting to devise a plan, but the wine has meddled his train of thought ever so slightly. After a failed attempt to come up with something, he decides to simply go for it.  
What does he have to lose?

He steps out of his hiding spot, bottle in hand, the second he sees a silhouette blanketed in white, he launches the wine bottle across the room.  
There’s a bounce, a yelp, and a loud crash. As soon as the wine bottle bounces off the figure’s apparent leg, it shatters against the ground, sending glass into every direction.

“Ouchieeee!! Police brutality!”

The voice causes Saihara to pierce a deadly and annoyed gaze towards a familiar mask.  
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you stupid?”

“Well,”

“It was a rhetorical question.” He snaps back, eyes looking downwards towards the mess of glass and spilled wine on the ground. “...shit..” He mutters under his breath, but doesn’t pay much attention to the mess as glass crunches under his boots when he walks towards Ouma.

The thief, who’s sure he’s about to get a stern talking-to from the detective, begins looking for an excuse to get out of there. He’s rather surprised when Saihara bends down to his leg.  
“Did I hurt you?”

To mask the moment of speechlessness, the thief scoffs. “You threw a glass bottle at my leg at full speed, take a wild guess!”

“......I’ll get you some ice.” Saihara sighs, standing up straight and turning on his heel. He doesn’t seem too bothered by the glass crunching underneath him.

“That’s gonna be a nightmare to clean.” Ouma points out, a nonchalant detective shrugs.  
“Whatever.” He comments, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer and a broom on his way back to Ouma.

Kneeling down, he looks up at Ouma with tired eyes. “Where does it hurt?? Pull up your pant leg.”

“I can take them off if you’d like!”

Saihara shoots him a look, clearly shutting down the offer, and takes the matter into his own hands, cuffing the pant leg and rolling it up until he sees a fairly sized bruise blossoming into hues of purple. Kind of like his bath water.

“Ooh, so handsy~” The thief smirks under the mask, and he knows Shuichi can tell. The detective sighs, and presses his thumb against the bruise.

“Ow ow!” Ouma shrieks, pulling his leg up with a pout. He scoffs when he sees Shuichi crack a small smug smile, the audacity.  
“My Shumai, a sadist! I never would have thought!” He’s glad the mask hides the smile on his face.

“Do you want me to help you or not?” He tilts his head, motioning towards the ice pack that was clearly freezing his own hand. After a moment of silence, the thief lowers his leg down and Shuichi proceeds to gently set the ice pack upon the bruised area. It’s quiet as he stares at the pack, holding it firmly against his leg for him.

“....So, are you here to talk..?” Saihara speaks up, masking his hopeful, almost pleading tone as best he could.

“About~~?”

“...You know what.”

“Mmmn, nope, doesn’t ring a bell!”

He sighs dejectedly, standing up. “I get it.” The ice pack is shoved into Ouma’s hands. “You’re the type of person that pretends everything’s normal after something happens.”

“Did something _reeaally_ happen though?”

Saihara huffs, retreating to the kitchen and returning a minute later with a rag to soak up the spilled wine. He tosses it onto the puddle, watching it slowly shift into a red hue as the rag absorbs the spilled contents.

“Did you drink all that yourself? Without inviting me?” Ouma continues to attempt to kill the tension in the air, to no avail, the detective is in no mood to play along. He sighs a third time, pacing around the living room.  
“This was supposed to be a quiet day..” He mumbles as he shakes his head in disapproval. There’s a thick fog of unresolved tension between the two as Shuichi goes to the other side of the room to dig through the drawers.

“I can be quiet!” Ouma smiles, despite Shuichi being unable to see it. It’s beginning to get aggravating, the fact he couldn’t outwardly express anything so he could give the detective visual queues.  
“Uh huh..” He finishes peering through the drawers when he hears the rattle of an orange container, popping two tablets into his mouth and swallowing them dry.

“Is that safe to mix with wine?”

Shuichi let’s out a breath, and gracefully turns back to face the mask.  
“How about this: It’s none of your damn business. Are you done wasting my time?”

“Ouch!” Ouma stands, allowing the ice pack to slip off his bruise. “Heyyy, I’m sowwy, okay? I’ll make it up to you.” He motions towards the mess on the ground.  
“I’ll clean it for you, how about it? Once in a lifetime, limited offer!”

“By that you mean, you’re going to make your “minions” clean it for you?”

“Well, would you rather do it yourself?” He tilts his head with a hidden sweet smile, before Saihara retorts, he continues. “You’re about to be knocked out tired anyways. Whatever you just swallowed was strong, considering it was a prescription and you probably took more than you should cause that’s who you are, and you mixed it with half a bottle of wine which is just gonna increase the effects, so just take the damn help Shumai.”

The detective can’t help the small smile on his face. “Not bad.. Maybe you should drop Dice for a detective career?”

“Only when you join my organization.”

Shuichi chuckles softly with the shake of his head and turns on his heel, walking towards his room. As he arrives at the doorway, he stops to turn his gaze back to the thief, who watches him patiently.  
“I want to like you Ouma, seriously.” He begins suddenly, eyes unfocused and darting around the room, perhaps looking for words that aren’t there.  
“Just- You know- I mean if the circumstances were different then—“

“Go to sleep, detective.”


	8. The Night is Short, Walk on Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuichi meets someone familiar.
> 
> In his defense, it was his day off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings: Some alcohol**

“I don’t know if I’m in the mood today..”

“Nice try Shuichi, we’re already here.” Kaede playfully slaps his arm, while her other hand turns the steering wheel as she parks the car.

“You practically held me at gunpoint until I agreed to come.. I’m having trouble figuring out how bar hopping is supposed to help me feel better.” He leans back into the car seat, determined not to leave the comfort of Kaede’s car any time soon.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a detective? Figure it out, big shot.” She replies, muttering additional profanities as she struggles to squeeze into the tight parking spot.

“Well, I guess you want me to participate in social interaction that doesn’t involve criminals or interrogations.. and you think this is gonna cheer me up somehow?”

“You can’t spend your whole life cooped up in your office and apartment talking to only three people and criminals.”

Saihara taps the car door’s handle and hums in thought. “Actually, it’s four people, and technically I could.”  
Kaede gives him a look, one he finds himself giving to Ouma very often _(ah shit, he’s thinking about him again, isn’t he?)_. She sighs as she finally pulls her keys out of the ignition. Saihara doesn’t find the courage to have his eyes meet her disappointed gaze, so he focuses on her sparkly pink music-note keychain that dangles from her car keys.

“...Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” He speaks up after a few moments of killer silence. “I’m... sure it’s not gonna be that bad. I’m just, you know, being me..” He adds slightly hesitantly, but it’s to reassure Kaede rather than himself.

“That’s what I like to hear, I’m proud of you!” She smiles, patting his shoulder with reassurance. “Let’s go!”

Both of their heels make satisfying sounds against the pavement as they make their way towards the street’s club. The building is unsurprisingly large for a nightclub, but it’s the center of the city, so it really should have been expected. It’s a lively hour, and Shuichi mentally prepares himself for the crowd that awaits his crumbling anxiety inside.  
Realistically, no amount of preparation ever readies him for such a crowd of people. The second the pair enter, they’re already surrounded by drunks, teenagers, drunk teenagers, and so on and so forth. They’re being shoved and pushed as they waddle in between people dancing, grinding and practically fucking on the dance floor. Shuichi will never understand the satisfaction of these clubs.

It takes at least seven minutes for him to push and shove his way through the dance floor _(who was the genius interior designer that put it smack dab in the middle, in front of the all-important drinks?)_. By the time he gets to the bar, he feels as though he’s run a marathon and would prefer water over scotch at this point.

“Are you still alive Kaede?” He finds himself practically shouting over the music, looking towards her, only to find that he’s lost Kaede already.

“Kaede?” He asks no one in particular this time as his eyes scan the flood of people in the middle of the room. Looking for the familiar head of blond with two musical pins in her hair, his eyes land on not one, but two heads of blond hair.  
He confirms one of them to be Kaede, but studying the girl next to her, he’s never seen her before. Whoever she was, she’s captivated Kaede to a great extent. He can’t blame her, that rack would pull just about anyone phsyically attracted to women in.

“I’ve lost her in the first five minutes... It must be an academy record.” He talks to himself, since to be frank, no one around him is paying enough attention to think strangely of it.  
Sighing and leaving Kaede be with her fellow blonde, he sits at the bar to get as far away from people as he possibly can. Looking around, he spots the dreaded “No Smoking” sign and groans as he rubs his temples in annoyance.

“Excuse me—“ He begins, turning towards the bartender who doesn’t give two shits about his existence at the barstool, clearly focused on the regulars. Shuichi mutters curses under his breath and raises his voice with hesitance.  
“Excuse me," He starts again, and wants to die when he hears how painfully awkward and out of place he sounds. It’s ten times worse when the bartenders and two patrons eyes shoot towards him and straight through his soul.

“Is—“ _(Don’t stutter don’t stutter don’t stutter)_ “I-Is there a balcony or something around here?” He hates himself.

“Nah man, roof's closed, if you wanna smoke a cig just go back outside.”

Is his nicotine craving that obvious? He mumbles a thank you that no one gives a shit about since they’ve turned back around, and backs away from the bar. There was absolutely no chance he was traversing through that hell of a crowd any time soon again. He goes for the ever-so-slightly more illegal plan B. Hopping off the barstool, he scans the area for a less populated place, an area where there was nothing interesting and therefore no reason for people to be there. He settles for sticking to the wall and circling the entire place until he finds what he’s looking for.

Though it takes a good ten minutes of dodging near elbowing and other people’s sexual escapades he wants nothing to do with, he finds exactly what he’s looking for. The inevitable door to the roof.

It’s a decently secluded corner with a couple of worn out couches, half of them taken by young couples attached to each other like leeches. He couldn’t care less, as long as they weren’t paying attention to him essentially breaking into the roof.  
He’s not quite sure what he was expecting when he grabs hold of the door handle and jiggles it, only to find it locked, as it should be, but it pisses him off nonetheless.

“Goddamnit....” He mutters under his breath, continuing to fumble with the door’s handle. Unsurprisingly, it does nothing, even when he gets slightly more violent and kicks the door with the heel of his shoe.

“Need help with that?” A voice calls over the crowd and music.

“What?” Is the automatic answer that falls off his tongue as he turns to find the source of the question.

“Help. You want me to open that for you?” A shorter male walks up to him, hands comfortably placed behind his head as two large violet eyes lock with Shuichi’s.

“Oh, uh, yeah?” He replies cautiously, studying the guy’s casual calm smile. “Do you.... work here or something?” The detective uses his trained eyes to scan the shorter male for some kind of name tag or set of keys.

“In your dreams!” The other giggles, and turns on his heel. For a moment, Shuichi assumes he’s given up and left, but those dangerous violet eyes look towards a couple making out on the couch. He slinks over to the backside of the tacky red couch, and reaches his hand out to a brunette girl’s hair, and skillfully pulls out a bobby pin. Shuichi hardly believes it when he returns to his side and drops to his knees, fumbling with the pin for a brief moment before inserting it into the keyhole.  
This guy must have done this before, the lock clicking and door opening is only further proof.

The lock-picker holds the door open for the taller, and bows his head ever so slightly.  
“Please, ladies first.” He sneers, to which Shuichi snorts slightly as he rolls his eyes and jogs up the stairs to the roof, the other follows him, closing the door behind them.

Saihara sighs in relief upon feeling the cool breeze the second he’s outside and away from the crowd and overwhelming smell of sex and booze. Digging in the pockets of his jeans (Kaede insisted that his usual trench coat didn’t fit the mood of the club, despite the fact he practically lived in that coat) for his lighter and a cigarette, he mistakenly locks eyes with the male that opened the door for him in the first place.  
“Oh uh, thank you by the way. For opening the uh, the door..” He somewhat dodges a stutter, and quickly averts his gaze to the lighter in hand, fumbling with the top.

“No problem, it’s a specialty of mine! And I get you, being in that crowded ass room is a nightmare sometimes.”

The detective nods in acknowledgement, at long last lighting the cigarette and raising it to his lips. “Um, do you wanna...” He motions towards the cigarette packet in his pocket with a questioning look.

“Nah, I’m good!” The other replies, rocking on his heels and quietly observing the way smoke gracefully falls out of Shuichi’s mouth after he nods and turns to the side, presumably to avoid eye contact. The shorter male is well aware that Saihara is no where near proficient at socializing outside of his work, so in his usual fashion, he decides he’ll torture the unaware-who-he-was-talking-to detective. Besides, after a wine bottle to the leg, it only serves him right.

“Sooooo, you from around here? I haven’t seen you before, and I know tons’a people here!”

“Oh um,” He coughs slightly due to the unexpected question suddenly posed at him, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and holding it in between his fingers, palm leaning against his chin. “Yes and no,, I live and work nearby I just... These kinds of places aren’t really my uh, scene?”

“Gotcha. So what’re you doing in a place like this anyways? Didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Just ah, my friend dragged me here, I kinda lost her in the crowd.. These places are more of her thing than mine but, she had good intentions, y’know?”

“Totally!” The shorter leans against a vent, raising his arms to place them back behind his head. “Same thing happened to me, friend dragged me here and started talking to some other chick! Rude much?”

“Yeah....” Shuichi absent-mindedly replies, giving the other a side glance to take a better look at who exactly we was talking to. He was on the shorter side, pale skin and dark colored hair tied into a ponytail. He can’t quite place the color due to the darkness of the night, but can see the highlighted tips of his hair. Nothing about the way he looked necessarily stood out to him.

“So, where d’you work?”

“Me??” Shuichi stupidly asks, before answering his own question. “I uh, work in the Future Foundation, the buildings are a few blocks away...” He looks around, pinpointing the tall buildings with his gaze.

“Ohhhh! Are you one of those people in the black suits that give all those motivational speeches about how the Future Foundation’s gonna change the world for the better or whatever?”

Shuichi can’t help but chuckle a little as the cigarette raises back to his lips. “No... That would be the 14th Division... I’m in the 6th, I investigate special crimes and all that... a detective to put it simply..”

The other whistles, twirling a dark strand around his finger. “What counts as a special crime?”

“Ah.. usually things that the police aren’t equipped to deal with, or just um...... out of the ordinary cases..”

“That’s coooool!”

“I mean, I don’t know, it’s usually a lot more boring than it sounds...” He shrugs, but can’t help the small smile on his face. It’s been a while since he’s been able to hold up small talk without feeling painfully awkward.  
“Um, sorry I- I never introduced myself or anything..” He suddenly realizes after talking to the stranger for what had to be a few minutes already. “I’m Shuichi...... Saihara,,”

“A pleasure!” The shorter male holds out his hand, when Shuichi shakes it he briefly wonders if people still genuinely greet others with handshakes these days.  
“And you’re...?” He tilts his head curiously at the presumed stranger, who strangely enough, takes a moment to think of an answer.

“...Rantaro Amami! Pleased to make your acquaintance!”

Now, Kokichi knows the risk he’s taken with that lie, there was no guarantee that Shuichi had never heard the name before, but he prays that he’s too focused on his own world to be aware of a travel blogger that just so happened to be a close friend of Ouma’s.

“Do people still talk like that?” The detective smiles a little as he lets go of the other’s hand. He suspects nothing, and Kokichi celebrates internally. “Anyways.. it’s nice to meet you, I was sure I was going to sit in the car for three hours..”

“Glad to be of service!” Ouma smiles at him, finding it rather satisfying he can see his facial expressions for once. “...Soooo, can I buy you a drink?”

Shuichi coughs again, almost dropping the cigarette in the process. “Oh um,,, you don’t have t- I mean, yeah? Sure? I mean I guess?”

Kokichi can’t help the laugh that forces itself out of his mouth, and he just has to find the hand covering the detective’s face and red creeping up his neck adorable. Shuichi pouts in embarrassment, moving his hand upwards to rub his temples.

“Aw, you suck at this whole talking thing, don’t you, detective?” Kokichi smirks as he adds a lilt to his voice. “Whatcha want?”

“Surprise me... Nothing too strong though I- I kind of pregamed before I came here..”

“I like your style! I’ll be back~~” Ouma waves as he skips towards the roof’s door. The pregaming explained why Shuichi seemed a little slow today, but it worked towards his advantage. As long as he could get him drunk enough to not use that sexy intelligence of his to figure out something was familiar about Ouma, it was a win-win situation. He had time anyways, Miu seemed to take a liking to the detective’s friend.

Upon returning, he finds Shuichi leaning against the roof’s ventilation system, having already stubbed out the cigarette. Ouma skips towards him as gracefully as he can muster, balancing the liquids in their respective glasses.  
“Thank you,,” The other smiles awkwardly, taking hold of the glass before Ouma has a chance to spill it’s contents with his inability to stay still.

“You shouldn’t be taking drinks from strangers, you know!” The shorter male sits beside him as he eyes Shuichi, who has already taken a sip of the presented beverage.

“I guess I just don’t care enough..” He shrugs, he’s smiling, but Ouma can’t bring himself to smile at the choice of humor, so he busies his mouth by raising his glass to his lips.

“So who exactly are you..? Are you from around here?”

“Mmmm, you could say that, I guess!”

“You guess....” Shuichi echoes with a mumble, pondering the answer for a little too long. Clearly his overthinking stretches into his social life, Ouma notes.  
“Okay then mystery man... What do you do?”

“Feast your ears on this, detective! I’m a travel blogger!”

“Travel blogger?...” He repeats, he looks up at the sky for a moment, then turns back to him. “Wow.. So you... Go all over the world and blog about it online? You can get paid for that?” The detective raises his eyebrow in disbelief.

“If you’re as charming and entertaining as I am, you can get paid for anything!”

“I see.. modest too, aren’t you?”

Kokichi snorts, waving his hand dismissively. “Oh no, the detective’s got jokes. And here I was thinking they were all stoic and boring!”

“Ahah.. I wouldn’t say stoic, just awkward.. I don’t talk to many people, and half of the people I do talk to are detectives like me.. The rest involves interrogating criminals.”

“What fun you must have!” Ouma snickers, Shuichi nods slightly, to his surprise.

“It can be fun, believe it or not.. Not as interesting as traveling the world though. Where have you been?”

“Oh, wait til you hear a load of this!” Ouma sets his glass down, and begins listing off places while tapping and retracting each of his fingers.  
“The United States, Brazil, Hawaii, Russia, Zimbabwe, Germany, France, Uganda, Madagascar, Azerbaijan, Chile, Uruguay, Poland, Italy, North Korea, Antarctica, The Bermuda Triangle...”

“Hm, some of those don’t sound too open to the public.” Shuichi thinks aloud, but the half smile he’s sporting is clear on his face. “And I’m pretty sure Hawaii is a part of the United States...”

“Is it? Never understood why it was so far.”

“Well, it’s an impressive list nonetheless... How was the Bermuda Triangle?”

“Overrated. Nothing but a bunch of old ruined ships and aircrafts! No internet connection either.”

There’s a pause, and the two share a brief laugh at the stupidity of the conversation.

“Okay, but really, have you actually been to all those places?” The detective tilts his head, clearly referring to the more reasonable parts of the world.

“Of course, I’m an honest man, Saihara! I’ll show you my blog later, you should appreciate the authenticity of hearing it from the horses mouth! I don’t get to talk about it much, since most people just read my blog and don’t bother listening to me.”  
It’s of course, a lie, but the sad tone he fakes at the end seems to sell the story to Shuichi by much more. The real Rantaro does not have this issue, unlike Kokichi, he genuinely has a charming personality, and stories upon stories from his travels Ouma knows people could listen to all day.

“I see.. Sorry about that.. What’s been your favorite place you’ve visited?”

“Hmmmm..” Ouma taps his glass with the tip of his nail as he formulates a lie. “I’ve gotta say the all-popular USA.”

Shuichi hums in thought, with a strange range of emotions on his face upon hearing the mentioned country. “Huh, I always thought the US to be a bit overrated.”

“Really now?” Kokichi raises his eyebrows, thinking back to how fondly Rantaro spoke of the place. “Have you been?”

“Me? Oh, no, my parents live there.. so I’ve heard this and that, I guess I wouldn’t really know for myself..”

“Parents?” Ouma mistakenly slips out a dumbfounded tone upon hearing the word. He knows Shuichi has only ever lived with his uncle and aunt, so the sudden mention of actual parents catches him off guard.

“Ah, yeah?” The other quirks an eyebrow, sipping on his drink, just about to finish his glass.

“Whoopsies, that sounded stupid huh? You just reminded me of why I started traveling in the first place! Kind of a sad story, but my parents kicked me outta the house the millisecond I graduated high school! I travelled around Japan a bit and it evolved into the world!” He makes up as he goes along, knowing very well that he is unfamiliar with the concept of parents, and that the only family he will ever have is D.I.C.E. Kokichi is beginning to like this new persona he’s adopted, and wonders if Shuichi prefers the fake Rantaro Amami over the Phantom Thief.

“O—Oh, wow-“ The detective stutters after the sudden shift to such a story, he’s intrigued that the other doesn’t seem too bothered. “Um, I’m- I’m sorry?”

“For what??” Kokichi stares at him with an unfazed smile, sipping at his glass.

“For the whole- You know- being kicked out of your home thing-“

“Ohhh, that! S’alright, I’m not bothered by it, I mean it brought me success, didn’t it? I’m better off like this, without them, rather then what I’d become if I stayed.”

“Right.. I understand that..” The detective mumbles, finishing off his drink with a final gulp. He knows very well that if his own parents had even bothered to stay, he wouldn’t be a detective.

“Phew, that conversation really took a turn, didn’t it?” Ouma giggles, and quickly tries to lighten the mood when he notices Shuichi feeling uneasy about the topic.  
“What about you? How’d you get into the whole detective thing?”

“That? Oh, it’s nothing really... My uncle owned an investigation agency and I’d help out from time to time with small cases. I guess it escalated from there, that’s all...”

Kokichi taps his finger against his chin, pondering the answer for a short while. “Not everyone’s good enough for the Future Foundation though, that’s a big deal. That means there’s something special about you!”

“I wouldn’t call it special.. It just kind of happened... I had a thing for solving murders on my own, I suppose it was deemed useful to them.”

“If you say so, but you know, it’s fine to brag a bit! Not everyday you run into someone who solves murders and whatever for a living!”

Shuichi chuckles softly, shrugging his shoulders ever-so-slightly. “Trust me, it’s more of the “whatever” than murders.”

“Okay, okay, keep your secrets then!” He pouts. “I see you’ve got an empty glass, shall I top you off?” He motions towards the glass Shuichi is now anxiously rolling against his palms.

“Be my guest.” The other places the glass in Ouma’s outstretched hand. The two make eye contact for a brief moment, before Shuichi bails and quickly breaks it by looking up at the sky, thinking of Kaito instead of his new acquaintance. When the latter exits the roof to get refills, the detective realizes that this is the first person to meet him post-hat, his old first line of defense. Though he’s tempted to get a new one and return his protective shield, there was something liberating about finally being known to someone without it.  
Though his friends have chosen to say nothing about his change of wardrobe, he knows they wonder what changed to invoke such a decision. He’d gladly tell them, that is, if he figured it out.

“You aren’t falling asleep on me, are you? How much did you pregame?”

“Huh?” Shuichi snaps out of his daydreaming, turning towards the familiar voice to see a glass held out to him. He takes it with a small smile. “Sorry, just thinking.”

“As long as you’re not dead!”

“Right...”

It doesn’t necessarily feel like two hours had gone by, but it was hard to note the passage of time when Shuichi was witnessing possibly the longest conversation he’s had with a stranger up to date.

“You’re joking. There’s no way you have twelve sisters.”

“I swear on my life! It’s sad, really. I’d show you the family portrait if I could, that one was a doozy to take!”

“That’s insane... I couldn’t imagine living with so many people..” Shuichi rubs his temples as he shakes his head in disbelief. The stars were looking slightly blurry to him, but he takes another swig of wine anyways.

“Say, change of topic, but I’ve been wondering,” Kokichi begins, eyes fixated on Shuichi. “If I invited you to my place, would you come over?”

“Invited me? Why would you do that? I mean, we only just met..”

“That’s true, that’s true, but I don’t know, I like you. Also, I’ve got better wine at home.”

“You think a bottle of wine is gonna sway me to say yes?” Shuichi raises an eyebrow with a small smile on his face. To give the other credit, it was tempting. “Besides, what’d be the difference?.. We can talk here perfectly fine.”

“Well, I don’t know!” Kokichi answers to the first question. He personally never quite understood the appeal of wine, hell, he’s been drinking Grape Panta in a wine glass this whole time (which also gave him the sober advantage over Shuichi to execute his lie properly). “No difference. I just like you. And...” There’s a moment of hesitation that sober Shuichi would have caught in an instant. “We don’t have to just talk, you know.”

“What else is there to do?” The detective stupidly asks, staring at the other with curious eyes. There’s a moment of silence while Ouma thinks of another way to drop obvious hints, but Shuichi’s mind finally catches up.

_“-Oh!”_ He utters out in surprise, red creeping up his neck as it tends to do. “You _like_ me, I understand, I’m sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t think- Okay.” He quickly stops before he embarrasses himself more.  
“Right. Okay. Um.” He places a hand on his own cheek, Ouma watches him fumble in amusement and curiosity at his reply.

“You’re, you’re really nice, really, I think so- I just? I’m kind of, involved with someone else-? I mean, not really, but like I have a lot on my mind about another guy and it’s- it’s really, _really_ complicated and I don’t want to make you feel bad but- I don’t want to do anything until I sort out my shit- and- and I’m rambling aren’t I? I’m definitely rambling, sorry, I didn’t mean to give you such a long answer but-“

Ouma is smiling calmly as he lets the other ramble, but inside he may as well be screaming.  
_Sorting out feelings about someone else?_  
He couldn’t possibly mean the big bad Phantom Thief, could he? But no matter which angle Kokichi looks at it from, it’s the only answer that makes sense.  
How delightful.  
His detective never fails to surprise him.

“Hey! Calm down! It was a lie!”

“.....A lie?”

“That’s right!” Ouma smiles widely at his newfound information. “Did you really think I was gonna make a move? You’re a bit knocked, can’t consent.” He nudges Shuichi’s shoulder. “I’m not that kind of criminal!”

“I-??” Shuichi begins, not knowing how to respond.

“Oh, will you look at that! My friend just texted me she’s waiting outside! What convenient timing.”

“Yeah??”

“Well, it was super nice to meet you, good chat for once!” Ouma winks, throwing him a peace sign as he stands and begins walking to the door. “I’ll see you later, Shumai!” He pokes out his tongue, exiting the roof with a happy skip in his step, eager to share his acquired information with Miu.

“.......Shumai.....?” Shuichi repeats in a hushed mumble, and his missing intellect suddenly bashes him in the head. The pieces click.

The height. The hair. The attitude. The charm. The flirting. The confidence. The pouting. The over-exaggerated expressions. The lock-picking. The running away. The lies. The entire conversation was a lie. The Rantaro Amami character was a ruse. And Shuichi fell for it.  
He smiles.

“Ouma, you son of a bitch.”


End file.
